#FINALLY SHES OUT OF THE NWA
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SydCarmy Meets The Family <3
>>> The thought of Carmy being introduced to Sydney’s tons of Nigerian Aunties and Uncles is very humorous to me.
“And Here he is! I brought you my boyfriend, Carmen finally. So everyone leave me alone about it.” Sydney starts, once she has hugged everyone.
The ‘Please go easy on my white man’ is silent but they nod. Raising up to shake his hand and her littlest clingy cousin who greets her, stares him down like he’s an alien.
He sticks out like a blonde haired blue eyed sore thumb, but once he’s been greeted and given a general threatening message via all her uncles (in tight jeans and sandals, which lightens the threats) he is told to put down the things they brought in the kitchen.
“Nice firm handshake.” He hears an uncle comment as he leaves and he is elated. It’s small but it’s approval!
Once in the kitchen, the auntie’s crowd to greet him with hugs and get distracted seeing him for the first time, squeezing his muscles and touching his hair.
“Eh… nwa ocha ya di short mana sara mbara…”
“Ma o nwere big muscles!
“No! Yana min kyau! Cute!”
Carmy: “Uh, do… do they like me?”
Sydney: “Oh, they love you. They’re plotting to steal you away from me.”
“Big nose too!”
Carmy: “well… okay, that was English.”
Little cousin, David, walks up to Carmen as he chops vegetables. Pulling a little stool over and standing at his side, wordlessly. He stares first at Carmen himself then the vegetables the white man cuts so effortlessly. Little sticky fingers rise and reach for the knife and Carmen just laughs as he attempts to pry it from much larger stronger hands.
“Can I see?” David asks, confused on why his big cousins boyfriends thinks he’s so funny.
“Unfortunately, this is a knife. Too heavy and sharp for you to use.”
David is heavily offended that he is being underestimated. “I can chop! I chop for Mama everyday!”
“David!” He heard said Mama begins to scold him, “You raise your voice at guests?” David begins to tear up.
“Not at all, Auntie.” Carmen inserts, David cut off from his whine. “He’s just asking if he can help me cut vegetables. I didn’t know he had experience.”
David’s mother melts immediately and confirms that yes, David does chop carrots and garlic for her. “Oh, He’s very smart! Knows how to hold it and everything!”
So Carmen lets David help him ‘chop chop’ keeping a steady hand in his as the little boy is taught new techniques and tricks.
By day’s end, he is smitten with his new weird looking older cousin and makes it plain by crying when it’s time to part. Sydney is so proud that she lets him parade around as the new favorite cousin.
>> And Sydney meeting a couple other “less-than-woke” Berzattos? Older Italian people setting eyes on their introverted little nephew’s girlfriend?
“Che bellezza!” A drunk uncle of his screams almost immediately before Carmen can get her name out.
“Gambe piuttosto lunghe… You guys will have such cute babies!”
“Oh, mixed babies are the cutest!” Donna throws in.
“Ma…” Carmy warns.
“Oh, you’re so WOKE, Carmen. Chill out! She’s givin’ her a compliment!” His Uncle says before turning back to the game.
“Ya mother’s right, Carmen! See, my sista has the cutest little grandchildren! Remember little Joey, Carmen? He went and found himself a black girl too!”
Carmy: “Okay, Aunt Glo, thank you. Can we move o-“
“And they have just beautiful little caramel children! And their hair! Ugh! Ricci e belli!”
Sydney is just nodding and trying not to laugh at how mortified Carmy is. He looks over to her in apology, but none of these comments are particularly too inappropriate and they mean well.
“But she’s skinny…”
“Skin and bones! Let’s feed her then, come with me, sweetheart!”
Sydney: “O-oh, uh…” but her hand is captured and she’s being led into the kitchen to be fed by hand.
She tosses a help look to Carmy and he shrugs with a small smile.
“Hopefully this’ll make your hips wider… The Berzattos have large heads when they’re babies, unfortunately.”
Carmy: “Ma! Cut the baby talk!”
Fin.
#sydcarmy#sydney adamu#carmy x sydney#carmy berzatto#syd x carmy#carmy the bear#carmy x reader#carmy smut#carmen berzatto#the bear#the bear tv#meeting the family#ayo edebiri#jeremy allen white#x black reader#black women#carmy x claire#carmy x you#carmy x fem!reader#carmy x nyc chef
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2023 Adrinette Fic Rec List
It’s the end of the year which means it’s finally time for the ML Big Bang’s yearly fic rec lists! We’re really excited to bring you our contributors’ favourite fics started this year to supply you with plenty of reading material while you’re waiting for the Big Bang fics’ publication in January.
Fate, Destiny... A Hamster by @mostmagical
After finally moving into his very first apartment per Ladybug’s suggestion, Adrien discovers something no movie or TV show could have ever prepared him for: someone else's hamster.
Marinette was so excited to have her first pet. If only it would stop escaping!
At least now there’s an excuse to talk to the new neighbor.
(Adrinette Never Met AU)
This fic is peak adrinette identity shenanigans! Adrien and Marinette star as the next door neighbors losing and finding the titular hamster, falling in love, and avoiding an identity reveal like the plague.
If I Let Myself Love You by @uptoolateart
It’s hard to be a normal girl with a normal life when your mother has terminal cancer. And when fashion model Adrien Agreste moves back to Paris and wants to be Marinette’s friend – or maybe even more – her life is turned upside down again.
How can she risk opening her heart to love when her whole world is falling apart? Especially when Adrien is hiding a dark secret of his own….
- COMPLETE FIC – updates on Sundays
*** No kwamis AU - 100% Adrinette. About half of it is fluffy and half heavy. Please read tags for trigger warnings. ***
It is such an incredible balance of beautiful, heart-wrenching and funny! I adored the relationship between Adrien and Marinette, how it developed throughout, how natural it was, how they both helped each other through their grief. Just beautiful.
hearth by @asukiess
Because how do you describe a dream once you wake up, when it’s fleeting and slipping through the cracks in your mind like it’s a sieve? You can barely wrap your lips around the concepts and words before you realize it has slipped through like water, and what lay in your hands is just a pang in your chest? When every moment away from it clouds your mind just a little more, until the memories are threadbare?
or: Adrien understands what it means to have a home.
call it even by @sha-nwa & @anna-scribbles
After a year of dating, there is one thing Marinette knows for certain: it's her and Adrien against the world. Through it all, Adrien is kind, patient, and endlessly understanding—even as she tries her best to keep her secret superhero identity hidden from him along with the rest of the world.
Nothing could ruin it, not even the supervillains of Paris: Hawkmoth and Chat Noir.
(adrinette dating // ladynoir enemies au)
A really well-written Adrienette fic featuring Ladynoir as enemies.
All the Missing Pieces by @uptoolateart
At 14, Adrien stepped into the time burrow and saw the truth no one could have guessed. When he came out, he was changed forever. And after defeating his father, he was finally free...or was he?
At 37, Adrien has everything he ever dreamed of – married to Marinette, three kids, the hamster – but none of it has turned out as expected. Marinette’s career is such a success that she’s never home, Hugo is an angsty difficult teenager, and Adrien is still struggling with his secret identity as a sentimonster.
And now, Lila Rossi is back after more than 20 years. But has time changed her? Or is she up to her old tricks?
It's my actual life (except I'm not good looking lol), and I vouch for how WILDLY accurate its treatment of the emotional issues of stay-at-home-dad stuff. I just cannot recommend highly enough how it handles jealousy, isolation, parenting struggles, etc. Not me in the comments every chapter telling the author how she got the feels so perfectly right.
If I Let Myself Love You by @uptoolateart
It’s hard to be a normal girl with a normal life when your mother has terminal cancer. And when fashion model Adrien Agreste moves back to Paris and wants to be Marinette’s friend – or maybe even more – her life is turned upside down again.
How can she risk opening her heart to love when her whole world is falling apart? Especially when Adrien is hiding a dark secret of his own…
So absolutely sweet. So emotionally devastating. Gets meta by taking advantage of how AO3 works at one point. Next level in every way. I loved the developing Adrienette friendship. I loved Marinette and her father. I loved Marinette's feelings about her sick mother. Please everyone read this fic your face will melt with emotion, and you weren't really using your face, were you?
Our Tales are Endless (That's Why I Tell Them) by joonapeach
Marinette lives a simple life - one surrounded by pretty dresses, fresh macaroons, and the calming view of Paris. It's a life she thinks she has always fit in.
And yet sometimes, when a certain boy comes by her shop with a flower and a new adventurous story, she can't help but wonder if there's something else she's missing.
you don't even know me at all (but i was made for loving you) by @ladyofthenoodle
They didn’t remember each other. The hospital told them there’d been an accident—brain damage—but Alya had told them the truth, later. Who’d they’d been to each other. What they’d given up, and why.
But even with their memories of each other gone, Adrien and Marinette are still inextricably tied together—by law, by their social circles, and by their hearts.
And in the apartment they share, there's only one bed.
If you like amnesia AUs, angst with a happy ending, married adrinette, and only one bed scenarios, you need to read this fic! It's beautifully bittersweet and will break your heart before putting it back together.
#ml#miraculous ladybug#miraculous#ml big bang#ml big bang 2023#adrinette#adrienette#love square#fic recs#ml fic recs#adrien agreste#marinette dupain cheng
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Early Morning Breeze
arthur morgan x f!reader ꔫ 9.7k ꔫ emotionally fueled smut, icky gooey lovey-dovey stuff for thou // based off of the Dolly Parton song // religious themes
A/N: this is my first rdr2 fic & my first post on tumblr & english is not my first language so critique is highly encouraged
You sniffle, forearm coming up to wipe away stinging tears clinging to lashes.
A rough exhale escapes your lips, and you can feel the sweeping glance Abigail sends you. Sniffling again, you press the heel of your palm to an eye, the other shut just as tight.
“Guess a couple’a vegetables is all it takes to get you cryin’,” she jokes, cleaver slicing off the head of a trout; her apron stanches the briny blood, scales scattered across her forearms like small slivers of moonlight.
“Onions,” is all you can muster as you finally allow yourself to turn away from the cutting board. You turn your face upward, cracking reddened eyes open to peer at the sky.
Big clouds– white, ozonated mountains beyond imaginable reach– float by lazily.
Another sniffle escapes you, but the dam of your eyes has been rebuilt, and the tears secede. Your sinuses still burn though, sending a horrible ache to the back of your throat.
Swallowing, you return to chopping onions.
Other than Abigail’s humming and the incessant clucking of hens in the distance (Grimshaw and chickens alike), the camp is quiet.
Shady Belle is certainly an improvement to dirt-ridden tent floors and crickets in your pillow, but it’s rather gloomy at times. You’re sure that it’s simply the haze of Bayou Nwa and the spectral creeping of ivy along chipping, gray paint. But it would be foolish, and most of all, naive, to ignore the simmering discomfort lingering under everyone’s skin.
Kieran’s death. Jack’s kidnapping. Dutch’s… nerves, if you were to give it a name.
Arthur feels it, and so do Abigail and Hosea, but all four of you are unwilling to mention his waning psyche for fear that it’ll only darken the already half-lit moon of his mind. It isn’t worth it.
And frankly, Arthur’s loyalty to Dutch is suicidal.
He will hem and haw, but in the end, orders are followed with abandon. Loyal to a fault, you tell him. It’s all I know, he says back, gently smiling as if an inside joke has been said. This ol’ dog can’t learn new tricks, and he’ll chuckle wryly at the quip, head shaking like the sins of the world have been settled and folded into the intestines of his mind.
You can only let him wallow for so long when he gets like that.
Though you’ve learned (after too many years as friends and a few more years as something quaintly more) how to put an end to it: a routine. Artfully mastered, a precariously balanced act that includes a succinct scold paired with a slap to his shoulder before pressing a soothing kiss to his cheek as he grovels over his journal like an overgrown child.
But another layer to the quiet and unease around camp is unarguably Micah's presence. Filthy, bastard leech of a man. Suckling away at Dutch’s good faith.
The fifth horseman of the apocalypse: treachery.
The way he saunters about is simply nauseating— skinny fingers pricking and prying into people’s souls. And he’s always been particularly taken with you. Disappointingly.
Micah finds sheer amusement in laying out your arteries on cork board, needles stabbing; displaying your heart like a prize butterfly, blood glittering like topaz stained glass.
It was simply infatuation at first, back all those months ago.
A game he had played with many women before and one you brushed aside easily. And then he discovered that you and Arthur were something— and Micah became a true savage, fueled by both contempt and his peculiar fascination with having taken women.
Even now as he makes his rounds with the gang, purposefully adding to the gloom, his eyes linger on your figure.
Micah veers closer, and you take a step towards Abigail. Her shoulders straighten, so do yours– a useless attempt to create some sort of fortress. He’s approaching in your peripheral and Abigail slams her cleaver down onto another trout, a singular clawed scale landing on your blouse.
You’ve moved from onions onto potatoes, your knife cutting away skin in precise shallow strokes.
When he’s close, Micah says your name– a horrible rasp of letters strung together by cigar smoke and glowing ash– the depths of hell holed up in his esophagus. You ignore him. And in turn he grins wildly, as if presented with riches beyond King Midas’ imagination. Your jaw clenches, eyes set on the knife and the naked, golden flesh in your palm.
“How’s Morgan’s broodmare?”
Abigail side eyes him. Your next slice is thicker than the last, heavy handed, taking off more flesh than you’d like. A waste.
“Or has he moved on after all these years? Got tired of the same fuck.”
You set the nude potato aside, picking up a new one. You imagine it’s Micah’s prick: dirt ridden and calloused. You begin to skin it too, taking extra care to needle out any dark spots.
“Been awhile since he’s been back in camp too. Makes you wonder.”
“Oh piss off, Micah,” Abigail hisses, her cleaver resting threateningly against the dark wood of the table. A sharp, glaring warning.
His smile widens.
He shifts his stance, shoulders slackening as his thumbs hook on the flap of his pockets. “Hit too close to home? Remind you too much of Johnny and how he ran off?”
“Micah,” you finally interrupt, picking up a new potato. “Shut up.”
“So that’s how I get you to talk.”
You stay silent, returning your attention to vegetables and other honeyed daydreams of skinning the Devil alive.
“Ignoring me again.” His eyes linger, thinking of horrifically creative ways to dissect and tear you apart as you stand. “Wouldn’t you be worried though? He’s been gone for a week.” The statement is mocking and cruel.
He wouldn’t know what concern was if it ate his face off, ravaged his eyeballs and devoured his tongue.
Abigail glowers, this time pointing the cleaver at Micah. “Yer just jealous.”
Micah sneers, the cylinder in his revolver shaking off a warning like a rattlesnake curling up to bite. “Jealous of what Miss Roberts?”
“Jealous she ain’t with you.”
Micah opens his mouth to retort something evil and violent, obvious in the way his pupils have contracted, gray eyes gone silver with wrath. You stab the knife into the cutting board, punctuating the air.
Both of them have stilled, turning towards you.
“Quit it.” You snarl. Abigail gives an apologetic look, but not before sending Micah another scowl. She’s back to chopping off fish heads.
And Micah, damn him, always needing the last word spits out a, “Bet he got himself killed,” before he rushes away, seething and gnashing his teeth.
It’s quiet again.
You get through six more potatoes before speaking. “You didn’t have to do that.” It’s a gentle chide towards Abigail, one that makes her huff.
“I just hate how he talks to us. ‘Specially you. And I hate how you don’t do anything.” Her hands wring together harshly, not having any more trouts to dismember.
“It’s best to ignore him. He gets off on it, the sick freak.” You keep your gaze fixed on your work.
Abigail relents, fingers stilling momentarily.
Her gaze rises, eyes trained on Jack’s small silhouette at the far edge of camp, playing in the weeds and brambles. He seems completely ignorant to such plights. What bliss.
Abigail’s raised him well.
“Ain’t ya worried though?” She says suddenly, spinning to look at you. You pause your ministrations, glancing into her perturbed blue eyes. “I mean,, well, Micah had a point, I guess.” She’s annoyed at the admittance, even if it is her own. “Arthur’s been gone for a while. It ain’t like him.”
You sigh. “It is like him,” your teeth chew at the flesh of your cheek, “but you’re right. He wouldn’t leave for a week without saying something.”
Abigail nods but her fingers have knotted and tangled once again. “Hunting trip?”
“Yeah, but with how long he’s been gone you’d think he’s trying to take down an entire herd of angry caribou in heat.”
She snorts. “He would try. Strong enough for it.”
“Bullheaded, that’s what he is.” And you scowl, starting to dice the potatoes far too quickly; bound to cut yourself. Abigail sends you a sympathetic, knowing smile.
“So you are worried.”
“Whatd’ya mean?”
“I mean you ain’t as calm and cool as yer pretendin’ to be.”
You continue chopping away, somehow not having cut yourself. Years of practice you suppose.
“Course I’m not. I’m always worried when it comes to him.”
Abigail snorts. “Well, ya never act like it.”
“Because if I act like it,” and you finish dicing off the last potato, ‘then that means something bad would actually be happening’, “then who would you have to talk to when you’re worrying?” And you give a knowing smirk.
She laughs, shaking her head, hands coming to a rest. You feel your own face brighten to a smile.
That’s the way it is with her; with all the girls. Quilted conversations complaining about men and life and backaches all riddled with coy smiles.
The breeze picks up then, and Jack comes tumbling along it, hands rusted with the red Lemoyne dirt and beaming at his mother like a little sun; too bright; seen without looking.
His eyes barely peek over the table, but he’s determined, placing a bundle of messy daisies next to dismembered fish, yet to be fileted.
“For you Mama,” he adds with his gift, hands clutching the edge of the table to watch her. And Abigail smiles tenderly, picking the flowers up. They drip, raw with dew and fish blood. She tries, ever so delicately, to wipe away the crimson stain on their petals.
“Thank you kindly, Jack,” she says. And he gives a toothy grin and runs off— on the breeze once again. Abigail ponders the daisies for a moment before offering you one with a teasing smile. “M,lady,” she jests, giving a sloppy curtsy. A true country princess. You snort, but fawn delighted shock, pricking the flower from her nimble fingers.
“Oh how romantic,” you add, putting a hand to your chest. Pocketing the daisy, Abigail does the same with hers, now fully smiling.
And with a few giggled words you separate; the chores around camp looming as Grimshaw’s eyes sharpen into blades, her tongue preparing to tear you both apart.
You help Tilly with the laundry.
Karen and you care for spare guns.
Under the shade, you patch up holes in socks and shirts and handkerchiefs all while Mary-Beth tells you about her new book— a romance, of course— about an outlaw and upper class woman finding love.
It makes you snort.
Amusement brewing in agitated, annoyed swirls in your chest as you’re reminded of Mary.
You’re too smart to be reading those kinds of things, you tell her, needle pricking your finger as you push it into the cotton of Dutch’s union suit. She shrugs; tells you she likes it.
You don’t blame her. You used to too.
And the sun has begun to set, casting long shadows on long faces after a long day. And people begin returning.
Javier and Bill from a home robbery.
Lenny with a wagon of purchases from Saint Denis.
John and Sadie each with a few rabbits in hand.
But no Arthur.
It’s a bit disheartening. Like a sunshower with no rainbow. What’s the point of the rain then?
You’ve grown anxious, your hands fussing the linen of your apron though there’s nothing to wipe away. And you don’t have the stomach to eat or the heart to make conversation— so as the gang begins settling in for the night you grab a basket, your revolver, and leave.
Charle’s, keeping watch, eyes you like a ladybug in winter, but keeps quiet.
You thank him with a glance.
And you’re not stupid. You know it’s dangerous in Bayou Nwa— whether it be under God’s sun or the Devil’s moon— crawling with bipedal predators and freaks of nature beyond comprehensible understanding. Arthur has warned you. Don’t you go out, firm words with even firmer hands on your shoulders. Not without me.
But you go.
You need to, if only to catch your breath; to steel yourself away from prying eyes if he doesn’t show up for yet another week.
And in the tall, marsh grass and bundles of cattails you’ve found something quiet and private; a place where you can crouch and pick away at plants with a frown you don’t have to hide.
And your fingers are shaky and uncalculated as you rip apart the oleander and sage, like a newborn colt, teetering across grass. You shove the foliage into your basket as if it took Arthur away personally. As if they’ve laced their way into his veins, choking and drying him out.
You’re upset, but you won’t cry, obviously. There’s no reason to, it’s hysterical and ridiculous, but you’re frustrated.
Because even if Arthur is painfully terrible at communicating, he at least has always told you how long he’d be gone for.
It’s a luxury you’ve gotten used to. And out of all the silks, jewels, and luxurious baths the world offers, it is your favorite.
The promise of his return.
“Yer mutterin’.”
The voice would’ve made you jump if it weren’t for the far too familiar rumble of it. Too often has it soothed you and brought you to climax for it to scare anymore.
You look at Arthur over your shoulder, glaring. “I do not mutter.”
“Sure ya do,” he says, stepping over a log to reach you.
His horse stands in the distance behind him, grazing and chuffing indignantly at the occasional alligator. Flighty things, horses are. Arthur’s is braver than most.
You turn back around before said man reaches you, hands resuming to the ripping and the pulling and the tearing.
“I told ya not to come out here without me,” he’s standing right behind you now.
“I know,” you grunt. And it’s quiet— heavy under the screeching of crickets and cicadas— until Arthur sidles his shins up to your skirts and places his hands on your shoulders, leaning.
“Yer mad.”
“I am not mad.”
“Sure ya are.”
“I am not,” and you look up, seeing him gaze out into the bayou with a gentle smile. “I’m annoyed,” you correct.
“Did Reverend chat ya up again?” And he chuckles, stepping aside to finally crouch beside you.
His knee brushes against yours, a touch starved way of saying hello. Under the golden sky, his blue eyes have filtered into grays and greens, seafoam and jade alike.
He looks tired but that pleasant smile is still there; too happy with your presence to be bothered by such ridiculous notions as the human need for sleep. And as much as you’d love to sooth the eyebags away, you continue frowning.
“You may be surprised to learn that Reverend was astonishingly quiet. For a week.” You add the last part roughly, hoping Arthur gets the message.
For a second, you think he doesn’t.
But then his hand raises, the pad of his thumb passing over the furrow of your brow. Achingly attempting to pacify you. To tell you he’s sorry.
“What’d I do this time?” And his voice rumbles over the question, soft and sweet, a tone he takes only with you. You sigh, turning back to the plants.
His hand retracts as you pick away at the leaves, but his eyes are heavy on your face, as if he trying to kiss you with just his gaze.
You’re sure he wishes.
“I just don’t like when you leave like that without telling me, or anybody really,” you say. And with Arthur, you always keep things succinct and out in the open because lord knows he won’t read between the lines.
He’s not like you, where you can tell he’s in a bad mood just by the way he drinks his coffee in the morning.
And Arthur takes a deep inhale, and then an exhale. “Yeah, I know.”
You look up, raising a brow.
“Sorry,” he coughs and you know it’s the most you’ll get out of him. It’s always that way with Arthur. Hands-on approach. Not much in the way with words.
The only way he failed Hosea.
“Abigail was worried too,” you add absentmindedly, finally letting yourself dawdle a bit now that he’s by your side again.
Arthur scoffs. “She’s always worryin’ about somethin’. Jack, John, you, me.”
You can’t argue with that, but you can’t blame Abigail either because you worry too. You just hide it better.
And you look up, less angry this time.
He left with a stubble and has returned with a beard. And though you’re sure his hair hasn’t grown much in a week, you notice the way the sandy blond locks brush against his shoulders— like golden willow on blue hills.
Finally, you acquiesce.
Your own hand raises, reaching out. And before you can even touch him, his fingers brush against the skin of your forearm. Ferns to sunshine.
You meet his cheek, wiping away at a smudge of dirt before tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear and hat.
“Your hair’s gotten long.”
Arthur looks amused, leaning into your palm not unlike the way a puppy does.
“Want me to cut it?”
You shrug. “That’s up to you. But at least take care of this.” And now both hands are on his cheeks, rubbing childishly over his beard. You beam at the way his nose crinkles.
“Wha’ I thought you liked my beard?”
“Not when it’s this long. You’d give me a rash every time you kiss me.”
Arthur smiles, dropping his head to laugh quietly.
And you stand, hand reaching to pick up your basket, but Arthur already has it in his grip, rising too.
“Oleander. Sage.” He notes expertly. You hum. “Tryin’ to poison someone?” He asks.
“You,” is your easy reply as you step away from him and to his horse. He follows in a pavlovian fashion, well trained.
“That mad about me leavin’ huh?” Long strides quickly bring him to you, arm brushing against shoulder.
“I wasn’t mad. I was annoyed,” you correct once again.
Arthur makes an entertained sound as he grabs for his horse’s reins. You finally notice all the carcasses strapped to the poor creature. A doe, a fine pelt, geese and rabbits hooked here and there. “Ya missed me?” He teases.
And before you can snort and tell him off, he leans down to kiss you. His hand cups the back of your neck gingerly; giving you all the ability to pull away if you’d like.
But you don’t. You never would.
Instead, your eyes slip closed as Arthur presses further. His lips are uncomfortably chapped, dried from the days on the road but so incessant in their need to feel you that you wouldn’t dare tell him to stop.
Instead your hand rises to hold his wrist loosely, a move that’s always made him melt for one reason another.
Then just as quickly, he pulls away, brushing his nose against yours.
“I missed ya.” And he breathes in as you breathe out.
“Me too,” You admit, though it’s not a secret. He knows. His favorite little luxury it is; the promise you’ll be there, awaiting his return.
Hasn’t gone a day without it since meeting you.
Admittedly, 1891 was a bad year to meet Arthur. Grieving, and angry; Eliza and Isaac freshly dead.
But you were there, picked up by Dutch, almost like a feral animal. Rabid enough to shut down Arthur’s (correction: everyone’s) bullshit immediately, yet organically compassionate to soothe him through bad nights. Even when you barely knew each other.
That was you.
Strained it all was at first. Funny, what time can do to two people.
Unraveling knots and kinks to smoothly twist two lives together.
And you watch as Arthur starts walking, not bothering to clamber onto his mount— even if the exhaustion in his step is obvious, like meatpie in a patisserie.
“You’re not gonna ride?”
He pauses and shakes his head, turning to look back at you.
“Personally? ‘M tryna get as much time alone before we have to be surrounded by fools and degenerates.”
You snort, strolling over to his side. “So what kept you away for a week?”
The back of his hand brushes against yours as you both begin walking.
“Heard about a wolf in Cotorra Springs. Wanted to check it out and well,” he eyes the pelt. “ Didn’t think it’d take me that long to hunt her down, but she was sneaky.”
He shrugs. “The rest of this I got on the way home, knowing how Pearson’ll be if I don’t come back with somethin’.”
You nod knowing how the man can get. Feisty about food, placid about most everything else. Sometimes he reminds you of a bear going into hibernation, and you doodle it on scraps of paper— messy, untrained caricatures of the gang.
They make Arthur laugh.
“Me and Abigail joked about you hunting caribou in heat. Not to give you ideas.”
Arthur flicks a brow. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“You would if there was money in it.”
“Is there?”
“I’ll say no for my own sake.”
Arthur laughs at that, and you grin, his joy infectious. A bad disease you’re willing to catch.
“So what have you been up to then, if not grumblin’ and mumblin’?” Arthur asks, eyes sweeping your frame.
“Cooking. Cleaning. Sewing.” You shrug. Arthur frowns a smidge.
“You gotta get out more.”
“I wanted to go out to Saint Denis but I got caught up with Grimshaw, I guess.”
All he can do is press against you a bit closer. “I’ll go with you soon then.”
An incredulous look is sent. “No you’re not.”
And Arthur looks so genuinely offended you have to laugh.
“What do you mean I’m not?”
“You hate Saint Denis.”
“I know but-“
You lean your cheek into his bicep. “Thank you, but you don’t have to torture yourself for me.”
He pouts. “It ain’t torture.”
“Mhm, sure.”
Voices in the distance become louder, the echo of Molly’s gramophone and Uncle’s drunken singing coming to a crescendo— smashing and breaking the isolation in a gradual blunder.
And you pull away, taking the basket from Arthur’s hand as you do.
Charles greets as you approach, and you hand him the spoils of your anger-fueled gather with another silent thank you. He nods politely, in his own grateful way.
And as Arthur hitches his horse— cooing with all the affection in the world— you leave him, going up into your shared room.
You know he has to take care of a few things before you can really have him for yourself:
Talk to Dutch.
Contribute money and check the ledger.
Load the hunt’s catches into the kitchen.
Help with any last minute chores.
Say ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’ to Hosea, Jack and John; Abigail and Tilly; Sean if he’s in a good mood too.
So you sit. Passively reading and waiting as you lean against the bed’s headboard.
And half an hour later, Arthur pulls open the door and then shuts it tight. Like maybe if he held it closed for long enough, the walls would thicken then burst fantastically into a hot air balloon; sending you beyond reach of civilization.
Under the yellowed light of the lantern, he seems entirely exhausted; the slope of his shoulders dooming, his usually straight back hunched.
Ain’t no rest for the wicked, Arthur jokes at times.
He sits down on the bed. For awhile he’s like that; just sitting and staring at the white canvas of the wall. And his eyes are flicking back and forth, like he’s sketching whatever he’s seen in the past week on the molding wallpaper.
It’s strange when he gets like this.
It’s not that he’s sad or upset, just caught up in his head.
“You should get undressed,” you command gently, sliding off the bed as you undo the buttons of your blouse.
Arthur watches. You pause. And then you deadpan.
“Are you serious?” But he says nothing, and neither do you, not as you come to stand between his knees.
You take his hat off, shoving the worn leather jacket down his arms, and he rests his head against your collar bone, pressing impossibly close into the revealed skin there.
Like maybe, just maybe, this time your atoms will combine and he won’t have to leave your side ever again.
When you begin unbuttoning his shirt, his hands finesse to undo the clasps of your skirt and you have to momentarily brush him aside, slapping his hands like a toddler gone for the cookie jar.
“Hey,” he protests, blue eyes pleading. But the way they blink slowly and idly tells you everything.
“No. Sleep. We can do that tomorrow.”
Arthur groans but listens; hands dropping, head knocking against your chest. “A week,” he grumbles.
“And whose fault is that?”
He’s quiet as you work, up until he catches a look at the thin silver chain around your neck. His finger notches on the ring that’s hooked to it.
“I wish you would wear it,” he mumbles languidly.
“I can say the same thing,” and you glance at the gold band he keeps tucked away on the rope of his hat. “Maybe if things get better.”
“When,” he amends. “When they get better.”
“Sure.”
He glares, the lines of his face darkening. “Don’t be like that.“
“Arthur.” And you cup his face, kissing him quickly and quietly. “It’s late.”
He stares up at you, an odd mix between enamored and frustrated.
A huff then escapes his lips, and he unbuckles his belt as you finish with the last button of his shirt. Your hands toys with the hem momentarily as if gripping to the tendrils of his soul.
But you let go, and turn away.
Getting rid of your own clothes is quick work, but Arthur makes even quicker work of kicking his pants and boots away, collapsing onto the furs and blankets of the bed. And as insistent as he was, he’s out quicker than nightshade, his arousal forgotten.
You’re sure he’ll remember it in his dreams. It’s happened before.
And you dim the lantern, laying yourself next to him in your chemise. Even though his back is facing you, a half-hesitant hand runs through his hair.
He’ll need a wash tomorrow.
You’ll force him into it, chase him around with a bucket if you have to. But for now, you let him rest; let sleep capture him like a firefly cupped between two soft palms. Pleased, your cheek presses against his bare shoulder blade.
Obviously, you wake before him.
Already dressed before he can even become lucid enough to call for you, hand reaching out to grab your missing form. You bend down, press a hand to his forehead, and whisper for him to forget you in favor of his dreams.
His soft snores ensue. You drift away.
And today, like yesterday, is quiet. But it’s less gloomy, more of a peace that’s settled because, praise be, Micah is out for the morning. It is both surprising and delightful, and nobody takes it for granted.
And you drift around the manor and camp, helping with the odd chore, saying hello, sipping at coffee.
At some point you walk off, where the ground is more solid and less swamp to have a quick word with God in the early morning breeze.
He doesn’t reply though you knew he wouldn’t. Still, you hope he heard.
At your return, Grimshaw unloads a torrent of harsh words, quickly placing you on dishes duty. You accept it.
Mean spirited, but kind hearted, that one. Always has been. You don’t have the will to complain though— not since Arthur’s come back.
He pacifies you, Hosea has teased, a coy smile hidden by the brim of his hat. At first it was embarrassing, but soon you came to realize denying it is like looking for oranges in an apple orchard. Psychotic and pointless.
Abigail has said the same thing, John nodding along enthusiastically.
It’s annoying and the truth, and you have no energy to argue.
Arthur is still asleep by the time you’ve scrubbed both the cast iron and your skin raw. Unsurprisingly. You’ve seen him passed out for nineteen hours once.
You wish you had that ability, especially with how hot and sticky the Lemoyne air is; boiled molasses in your lungs. You would sleep the entire afternoon just to avoid it all.
But in the slowness of the day, and your boredom, you approach Dutch, reading as always.
“Anything interesting?” You ask, readjusting the basket of laundry at your hip. It’s a conversation you have often— ever since you’ve joined the gang your time to read has dwindled— being much more preoccupied with needles and guns and terrible men instead.
He hums, flipping a page. “A collection of essays done by Ralph Waldo Emerson. I presume you know him?”
You nod, stepping closer. “He wrote before the war. A Transcendentalist, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” and Dutch smiles. He’s always told you that you’re too smart for your own good. Smarter than he deserves— than the gang deserves. But you never indulge in his compliments (at least not too much).
And you’ve never really been sure if they’re true.
He’s kind, though that may not be the word. Merciful. Insightful. And perhaps that has fueled the compassionate part in him.
But as of late it’s all been brought into question you suppose. His sanity. Whether or not he’s still the same old, reliable Dutch that he always has been.
But you brush it aside for now, letting yourself pretend it’s all normal and everything is okay. A happy family.
“Which essay are you reading?” And you lean against the doorframe, fixing your apron.
“Man the Reformer. Do you know it?”
“Only parts. I think. Care to read me some?” You tilt your head, tucking one ankle behind the other.
Refined with him, always, even with his penchant for savagery.
“For you, my dear? Anytime,” and his eyes scan the pages, flipping through to find a piece he likes. “Ah,” he says after a moment, knuckle tapping the paragraph. He clears his throat, then starts.
“Hence it happens that the whole interest of history lies in the fortunes of the poor. Knowledge, Virtue, Power are the victories of man over his necessities, his march to the dominion of the world. Every man ought to have this opportunity to conquer the world for himself. Only such persons interest us, Spartans, Romans, Saracens, English, Americans, who have stood in the jaws of need, and have by their own wit and might extricated themselves, and made man victorious.”
He turns away from the page, his face lilting towards yours. “Isn’t that lovely?” he asks you. “Just gorgeous, isn’t it?”
And Dutch, like most men, has a strange idea of what gorgeous is. Finding it in bloodied knuckles and revenge. In essays about man and power.
In hatred. In violence.
You’re unsure why you suddenly remember this— but when you were young, still attending school, you had read that Moses was not allowed to enter the Promised Land.
It had confused you. Hurt you even.
And when you had asked one of the nuns: Why? What was the reason? Why couldn’t he? What was the point if his fate was to die?
And you remember that nun, with reverent eyes and sad smile, told you:
“For freedom to be reached, the memory of subjugation has to die.”
And that is why Aaron, and Miriam had died as well. Zipporah too.
You stare at Dutch.
“Do you see yourself as Moses?” You ask. It’s a blurted question, not entirely thought through, and you’re embarrassed the moment the words leave your mouth.
Dutch stares back, his own dark eyes swirling with momentary surprise before he laughs, hitting his knee. Shoulders slacking, your own breathy chuckles escape as you watch.
“You’ve heard The Good Word?” he questions, almost shocked.
“Read it.”
“My, aren’t you full of surprises?”
“Are you calling me a sinner, Dutch Van Der Linde?”
He tilts his head, raising a brow. “Aren’t you?” It’s said as if it were common sense.
“Maybe I’m not a saint, but I don’t think I’m a sinner.”
Dutch hums, bouncing his knee. “You pray?”
“When I’m dying,” you tell him, half joking.
“And how often is that?”
“More than I’d like.”
Dutch doesn’t laugh, but a warm, hearty chuckle rumbles in his chest and he picks his book back up.
“Isn’t that the truth.”
Looking away, your eyes flick about the greenery outside his window. The chickens cluck incessantly, bouncing about like cotton ball clouds on grassy mountains.
You can make out the outline of Jack, bounding around a tree with a stick in hand, occasionally swiping the trunk. Abigail keeps a watchful eye.
And it’s all very domestic.
A little green rectangle of quiet love, framed by rotting wood and sin. It seems so far away, you can’t tell if it’s real. But you know for a fact it is, and it makes the deep, longing pain in your chest all the worse. It’s a dream really, one you think of often and one you and Arthur have only discussed either after sex or in the early morning— when everyone is still asleep and when things are a little imaginary.
When dreams rule the plain of existence.
Suddenly Hosea passes by the room. His gaze stabs through you, a knowing familiar look he’s sent over the past few months.
Like you’ve discovered a dirty secret.
And it seems you’ve both come to a conclusion you’re both equally unsure of. Same with Abigail. Same with Arthur, even if he denies it.
“I should get back to work,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the doorframe.
“Atta girl,” Dutch simpers, but you’ve already walked off, head full of fears and doubts and thoughts you know you’re not supposed to have.
Hanging laundry is one of the easier chores, one that eases the nerves. Gentle afternoon breeze, as humid as it is, drifts by, wafting the smell of soap and swamp water. Earthy and clean, rolled into a lavender clay.
Jack hovers around your skirts as you work, and you easily indulge him in poems, songs, and stories, all with a gentle smile.
He glances at the manor. “Uncle Arthur sure does sleep a lot.”
“He does, doesn’t he?”
“Where did Uncle Arthur go?”
Clipping a bedsheet to the line, your eyes gleam, turning to Jack. “He went beyond civilization” and you crouch down, making claws with your hands, a playful grin at your lips, “hunting wolves.”
Jack beams, grabbing at your hands, easing the claws. “I wanna hunt wolves!”
You laugh a little, pulling away and reaching for a pair of drawers in the basket.
“You’re still too small— they’d eat you up.”
Jack frowns. “No they wouldn’t.”
And you hide an amused grin with the back of your hand, thinking of John. After a moment, you nod. “You’re right. They wouldn’t eat you, you’re too skinny.”
“Hey!” And Jack pouts, tugging at your skirts. You finally laugh, dropping a hand to pat his head, fingers sifting through soft brown locks.
“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t let them eat you. None of us would.”
Jack seems appeased. “Do you think Uncle Arthur will take me next time?”
And not wanting to break his little heart, you say, “I think that’s something you have to ask him.”
And Jack seems to be somewhat miffed by the answer, reserving himself to sit by the laundry basket as he watches beetles and ants march along the dirt.
Little brown capped soldiers.
“Have you ever hunted wolves, Auntie?”
You hang up the drawers, humming. “No. But one time Uncle Hosea took me hunting for a bear.”
“A bear!?” And Jack crawls a bit closer. “I don’t remember that?”
“It was before you were born.” You add gently.
“Ohhh. Was it scary?”
“Well only at first. It tried to eat me, but Uncle Hosea wouldn’t let that happen.” Embarrassment bubbles at the memory. The way Arthur had laughed when you sulked, telling him and Hosea you would never hunt again.
Jack smiles. “Do you think Uncle Hosea will take me bear hunting?”
A downturned smile marrs your features. “I hope not.”
Jack complains at that, and you gently assert that bears are much worse than wolves, and they wouldn’t care how skinny he is.
And the moment is sweet and funny and utterly ruined when a horrible, rasping voice says,
“There she is.”
Micah’s back.
Setting your shoulders, you gently tell Jack to find his Ma. Tell her those stories I told you, murmured by his ear. And he scurries away, an excited smile on his face. Your full attention is then granted to the laundry basket and the sodden clothes inside.
Micah stands on the other side of the clothesline, watching you between the flaps of bedsheets and button ups. A fabric jail cell keeps you separated.
“Heard our workhorse is back, hm? Where is he?”
A sock is hung up, next a union suit.
“Oh, so you won’t even talk about your darlin’ Mr. Morgan with me?”
You’re running short on clothespins.
“You gettin’ tired of him?”
There’s still enough for now.
“Mr. Morgan, running off for days on end, only comes back to fuck his little mare good and then runs off again. Ain’t that just sad?”
You could use a new skirt maybe. You’ll head into Saint Denis tomorrow. For now though, another sock is hung.
“I could take care of ya, while he’s gone. He’ll never have to know.”
Two blouses are clipped on the clothesline and you’re officially out of pins.
“So, what d’ya think? Offer stands.”
You step away from the hanging laundry, your eyes meeting Micah’s. It startles him but turns him on just as quickly.
And then you walk away, to the manor in search of more pins. Micah doesn’t follow, though you feel his eyes burning holes into you, gaping pits of Tartarus on your skin.
You’re surprised to see Arthur leaning against the windowsill, cup of coffee in one hand, the other scratching away at his journal in long precise strokes; a wolf. And he’s trimmed his beard and hair, his skin clean.
Washed away of filth and stress.
An easy smile comes to him when he turns to see you— he downs the rest of his coffee, closes his journal, and steps over.
“Good afternoon,” you say.
“Afternoon,” and Arthur glances around for peeping eyes before kissing you chastely. “Thought we could go to Saint Denis today like ya wanted,” he offers.
You shake your head. “I can’t today; maybe tomorrow?”
He pulls away, looking bemused. “Always ‘tomorrow’ with you, woman.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s too late to go to Saint Denis anyway.”
“We could rent a room.”
“I am not spending money on a bed I have here,” you chide.
He raises his head to look at the ceiling, hat tipping back slightly back as he does. A stiffness overcomes him, like a thousand rocks have settled into his stomach. “You always gotta make things difficult.”
“Shut up,” and you pat his chest, stepping around him to continue your search, “I’ll see you tonight.”
That seems to help him digest the rocks but he still grabs at your wrist, stopping you. And there’s a deep longing in Arthur’s eyes; lust and sorrow mixing to create something entirely desperate.
“I love ya,” he mumbles quietly.
And it’s not something you say often, never really finding the need to. You know. He knows. You’re on the same page.
But sometimes, you’ll indulge each other with those three little words.
And Arthur lightens when you smile and nod and tell him you love him too. It’s like he’s seen the ocean for the first time, eyes sparkling in wonderful adoration. So he lets you go, assured he has you no matter what.
Expectantly, you barely see eachother for the rest of the day, each preoccupied with your own tasks. Small glances are thrown, like pebbles against windows, but nothing more.
Not until night falls.
You’re sitting around the fire with Abigail, snorting over a not so appropriate story Karen is telling when you see him in the distance, past the embers, crawling back into the manor. Admittedly, it is late but not late enough for Arthur to call it a night.
Usually, he’d stay with the group– drink a bottle of beer and sing a tone deaf melody with Tilly and Javier. But not tonight. Tonight he’s waiting you out.
And so when Karen finishes her story, you give one last laugh and leave.
Arthur is sitting on the bed when you come in, writing something slowly; the clear mark of verbal constipation.
And the lantern is lit low, warm and golden like a dying star. He only looks up from the page when you close the door, his hand pausing. There’s a droll moment where you stare at him and he stares at you– the little lift of amusement curling your lips can’t be helped.
In a brisk moment, you’re standing between his knees; but this time it’s him who undresses you. And you let him take his time with the clasps and buttons, resting your palms on his shoulders.
“Jack asked me if I’d take him wolf huntin’,” Arthur mumbles, standing to kiss at the junction of your neck and jaw. In nothing but your chemise, it’s easy to feel the hard line of him press against your hip. “Did’ya put him up to that?”
You laugh, hands rising to undo his own shirt. “Maybe.”
A rough palm presses between your shoulder blades, the other cupping your cheek as he nudges you to tilt your head with his nose.
“Yer evil,” Arthur mutters into your skin, “making me be the one to say no to him.”
“Was he angry?”
“Nah,” Arthur sighs, knocking his hips with yours, “just said I’m no fun.”
And you slip his shirt off, revealing broad shoulders and firm muscle, laced and sewed with scratches and scars.
You run your hand down a particularly marred one at his ribs. Knife fight.
“Did he hurt your feelings?” You tease. The hand at your cheek drops, bundling the hem of your chemise up your thighs. And before you can poke his ego again, the hand dips, grazing against your bundle of nerves.
You sigh, leaning into him as he lazily dips a finger in and out, in and out.
“John looked like he was ‘bout to have a panic attack,” Arthur rasps right in your ear. “If I had said anythin’ other than no I think he woulda killed me.”
“Can’t have that,” you hum, and Arthur snorts.
“Ya need me around to fuck ya, is that it?”
Scoffing, you pull away. “You’re ridiculous.” Your chemise falls back over your thighs, covering the slick Arthur built up. And he gives a soothing smile, hands lifting yours to twine fingers together.
“Did I hurt yer feelin’s?” And though you’re frowning, you let Arthur guide you to the bed— let him push you down onto the mattress. At your silence he runs his lips across your face; kissing at your brow, your nose, cheeks and chin. “I didn’t mean any harm by it.”
Lifting himself on his forearms, he watches you. You’ve softened exponentially, pliant and willing under him.
Only him.
And the look on your face is so fond— too loving and so soft, that he feels as if you must be a figment of his imagination. A sick twisted trick his mind is playing to feel something.
But you’re here, breathing against him, and looking like a drop of sunshine under the lantern’s light.
He’s struck gold.
Bending down, Arthur kisses you and in turn you breathe him in, arms coming up to wrap around his neck. You roll your hips, and a groan verberates in his chest— the sound makes your bones rumble— the first sign of an avalanche.
He lifts the chemise once more and a knee comes up to sit between your exposed thighs. Arthur dips his hand again, this time spreading you open on two fingers.
The both of you have gotten very good at being quiet after so many years of barely any privacy; a tarp or tent at most; but in Shady Belle, bless the heavens above, you allow yourself little, quiet whimpers.
The gift of walls.
And Arthur feels himself pulse as he edges you on, fingers increasing in speed. His thumb brushes against that bundle of nerves again and you choke back a moan, hands gripping onto the sheets.
“Arthur,” you pant, eyes shining with adoration. And he pauses. You stir something in him, some sort of odd childlike devotion he hasn’t felt since he was in his early twenties.
Not since Mary.
And he remembers when you had first gotten together, back in ‘94, you had told him you wouldn’t ask him to stop loving Mary. I could never, ever do that to you. It’d be cruel and unfair of me, you had whispered.
And you knew he never would stop because that’s how first loves are. Permanent.
But maybe now, maybe in this moment— just like every other moment with you— he has stopped loving Mary. Perhaps not entirely, but he wouldn’t chase after her like he used to.
Not when he has you. Not when you beg his name.
And Arthur rises, lifting you up with him as he sits up against the headboard, huddling you into his lap. His skin is warm, as it usually is, and you can’t discern whether that’s just him or if the Lemoyne heat has to do with it too.
It’s overwhelming and you’ve barely gotten started.
Making a pathetic little noise in the back of your throat, you see the way it lights his eyes on fire, as if you hold the keys to enter the Gates of Hell. And it’s almost too easy for him to pull off your chemise, leaning forward to press his lips against yours.
He’s scarily and surprisingly gentle. Always has been. But tonight there’s an underlying torture in the way he bites at your bottom lip, then soothes it, admonishing his own efforts.
And Arthur, this sweet, sad man who has killed, murdered, and torn apart men from sanity has resorted to fluttering his fingers against your hips; as if you were a prized butterfly, ready to fly off at any second.
For one reason or another, it makes your heart ache.
Your own hands cup his stubbled jaw as you lean down, opening your mouth and letting his teeth gently collide with yours clumsily.
There’s another rumble in his chest when you kiss the corner his mouth, an apology for your gauche actions. And you can’t tell if it’s a breath or a moan, but you assume that it’s something good.
A quiet plea for you to continue. Don’t stop.
Because if you do Arthur’s sure he’ll sob in a pitiful, defeated way that would leave him rutting into the mattress.
To his relief, your thighs press against his hips all the more, and your chest meets his. One of his own hands slides up your side, and he moans into your mouth at the feeling of your skin against his palm.
Silk against stone. Soft where he is rough– ruined by bullets, knives and meaningless labor. And he decides then, he’ll preserve this. Preserve your warm humanity, if it’s the last thing he does.
And he is a fool, but he isn’t insolent. He knows you’ve seen and experienced things that would have him reeling with nausea.
You’re a woman, of course you have.
But if he can help it, he will keep you like this. Coy and kind. Too good for him and too good for what the world has to offer.
Arthur realizes he’d gotten engrossed in his worship when you pull away to look down at him, giving a shaky exhale. Running your fingers through his scalp, you let your hand settle at the back of his neck, peering at his face as if he were a saint.
Arthur can only stare back. Fervently and biblically.
He follows every unspoken order you give him with a ferocity bordering desperation that only stems from his complete adoration. And you’ll never know how or where it started and you won’t ask, in fear of an answer that that any other man could give you. But this outlaw, brute, grunt; this man of all men has become an angel under your gaze and touch.
It’s intoxicating.
For awhile this continues. The kissing– the petting and exploration. Whispered ‘I missed you’s’ brushed across your lips, neck, breasts. At some point, Arthur wraps his mouth around one of your nipples, and you stifle a whimper against his temple.
A hand pushes into the curve of your back, imploring and needy, making you keen. The other, brushes against your core unexpectedly and you almost yelp from the sudden contact. But he dips his fingers into you gingerly, restarting the ministrations from earlier.
You all but melt.
You’re panting into his neck, gripping onto him as he plays with you. It’s shameful how a week apart has ruined you so terribly.
You’re oversensitive and overstimulated.
When your breathing becomes more desperate (which happens quicker than you’d like) Arthur pulls away again. And he likes this game; the build up before breaking you. An annoyed sigh puffs out from your lips, and you find yourself grinding into his lap for some form of relief.
His trousers have become a hindrance.
Arthur’s leaning into your chest, eyes half-open and cheek pressed against the space between your breasts. His mouth is hot and open, panting as you grind further into him.
And though you can feel him twitching against you, it isn’t enough. He’ll need more than the dull pressure of your core. But for now, he lets your hips roll, watching brightly as your slick coats the seam of his pants.
“No more,” he suddenly rasps, the first words said in a long time. “Please, no more teasing.”
You ponder him for a moment, then nod.
The trousers are off in an instant.
And his skin against yours is a relieving sin. Hands on your hips, he rubs you against him— and all you can do is sit it out and watch with bated breath. Arthur, at the feeling, lets out a stilted, raspy whimper.
Before he can do more, you lower a hand, pumping him up and down, up and down; a choked sound catches in the back of his throat when you do.
He’s bigger than average, but not impressively so. The real volume of his size comes from his width, noting that your thumb and middle finger don’t and have never connected when you jerk him off.
And you do this for some time, listening to his gasps and mumbled moans, only stopping when he begins pulsing in your palm.
Arthur whines when you pull away, eyes gleaming almost angrily, and you have to smile at the hypocrisy of his behavior. He bites back a curse at the way you look at him, too entranced to be upset.
Then, pushing him flat onto the mattress and straddling his waist, you kiss him. His hands land on your back once more, begging to press you closer, further.
Wanting nothing more than to simply have you against him.
And finally, you slide onto his length.
It’s jarring at first, uncomfortable in the way it splits you open. And you feel his every millimeter and every movement. It takes a minute for your body to adjust, to realize it’s him. Arthur lets you wait it out, lets you take your time as you finally sink down completely.
He thrusts, once, shallow and uncertain, brows furrowed in concentration. And your eyes close shut with a gasp, squeezing your legs even tighter around his waist.
Then, you lift your hips off him and sit back down. And then you do it again. And again. And again.
The pace you’ve set is slow, but it allows you to further assimilate to the stretch. Furthermore, the friction is accumulative. You quickly find that Arthur’s hands have lifted to clasp around your own shaking ones in an act to sooth you.
To quell whatever ache has settled in your abdomen (for the time being).
And his eyes are shining with an indiscernible emotion as he watches you; something that makes you want to cry out of sheer wonder.
You’re so sure it’s love. It has to be. You refuse for anything else.
You refuse to be a broodmare or quick fuck.
And something must flip inside of Arthur because suddenly, he flips you two over, and moreover, he turns you over onto your stomach.
“Arthur,” you mutter, as you lift yourself up on your forearms. And he bends down pressing a kiss to the vertebrae in your neck as if they were jewels on a crown.
His hands return to your hips and bring you towards him.
“I know,” he replies. It only takes a second for him to slip into you again, letting a deep, pleasant groan out.
In this position he’s quicker, rougher. Less careful.
Arthur utters the occasional incoherent word and you can only pant in reply. After a while of this— of his hips slamming against yours— your shaking arms collapse under you, and your cheek presses into the mattress.
Arthur doesn’t stop though, nor does he slow, and the whole thing overloads your nerves.
Yet somehow, his touch is still loving— even as he takes you so harshly. It’s an odd dichotomy. You’re not quite sure he knows his own strength in this moment. Maybe he never does.
And you can’t help but be utterly grateful that this is the only way Arthur uses his strength on you. To fuck you into a mattress.
And the only noises you can make are broken little gasps for air, an entire lifetime’s worth of vocabulary forgotten. He’s moving in and out of you at a far quicker pace than you had initially anticipated; and you feel yourself begin to shake, quivering for help beneath him.
“Please,” you beg.
“Please, what?”
Your face flushes, hot and embarrassed even if you’ve done this hundreds of times before. “Arthur,” you whine, and he gets the message, quickening his pace as more broken, unintelligible syllables bumble out of your lips.
He brings one hand away from your hip to cup under your chin, lifting your face slightly so he can press his cheek against yours.
A loving act that tells you this is more than lust and cum.
Your hands claw into the mattress and his other hand leaves your hip to land on top of your own— fingers moving to curl into the spaces between yours. You’re crying now, sobbing quietly for some form of release at the absolutely brutal pace he’s set.
And you feel yourself coming close to climax, warmth pooling and subsequently dripping from your abdomen.
Arthur’s close too. You can tell by the way he twitches inside of you and by the way his groans have become hoarse and breathy.
He then removes the hand from your jaw and you sink back into the mattress, his fingers reaching for that bundle of nerves and rubbing it. You leave an open-mouthed whimper into the bedsheet, your breath and spit creating a hot and sticky spot.
Delicately, he pushes your body over the edge.
The orgasm rushes over you like a snap— quicker than lighting but drawn out like thunder. It singes and quakes as you quiver around him, moaning dumbly and begging for some form of sanity. Your back, arching, pushes him further into you, ignorant of your own overstimulation.
Arthur’s grip is tight on your hips as he watches, having to stop himself from spilling into you right then and there. He would.
He would if things were better. He would if he were stupid and ignorant.
But he holds himself back, teeth gnawing at his lip. Eventually you calm, the bedsheet loosening in your grip, leaving linen hills in your wake. And as soon as you take a quiet, deep breath, he continues to thrust just as quickly.
It’s now his turn to gasp and whimper, and you’ve never heard him so desperate— properly crying as he presses his face into your neck.
Your own tears bead at your eyelashes as you let him use you, abandoning any and all self respect for yourself.
But it doesn’t last long, as he’s quick to follow you over the edge. His hips begin to stutter and you know it’s over.
Arthur pulls out, and you feel him throbbing against you as he cums into his hand. He’s practically collapsed on top of you as well, his body gone boneless and weak from the aftershock.
He’s still for some time, catching his breath and his mental faculties.
And you’re not sure how much time has passed until his lips press against your neck and shoulders gently; but you sigh quietly at the feeling, pleased and sated.
He reaches under your body, cupping your waist so he can roll the two of you over to lay on your sides. And Arthur curls himself around you protectively, like he could obstruct everything evil with the slope of his shoulders.
It’s quiet and peaceful, as the aftermath of sex usually is.
And each time he kisses your skin indolently, you press back into him— a silent message that you want to kiss back. He seems to understand.
After a while, he mumbles your name.
You don’t expect it, his usual preference for silence being the norm. But either way, you hum in reply, entirely lost in comfort and bliss.
“I’ll kill Micah.” It’s said so simply, like an everyday part of his itinerary. Cleaning, hunting, murder. Well, maybe it is then.
You don’t open your eyes though. This is not a new conversation, nor is it one you like.
“You heard him today I’m guessing.”
“When you were doin’ the laundry.”
You want to frown. “It’s fine.” Is all you can say.
“No it ain’t.”
You pull away from him a little. “I don’t wanna talk about him. Ever. He doesn’t matter.”
Arthur’s quiet again. But then he nods and closes the space you created.
“Okay.”
#arthur morgan#arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan fic#arthur morgan fanfiction#reader insert#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#rdr2 fanfiction#might get a part two
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hey anna! the wait for kwami’s choice part 2 truly is abysmal and it’s so hard to navigate through the tag with all the leaks about, do you have any fic recs to tide us over until gloob puts us out of our misery?
not only do I have fic recs, I also have way too much to do rn and therefore will spend an inordinate amount of time crafting a detailed rec list for you 😘 (we can also just consider this my 2022 ao3 wrapped lol)
goes without saying perhaps, but ANYTHING by @peachcitt is gold and also uniquely devastating, some of my particular favorites being:
metamorphosis - 97k, enemies, sleepovers, you get it. i'm normal
those benevolent stars - 23k, ladrien thief/prince/soulmates au. what more do I even need to say
chat noir's white french man hit list for feminist purposes - 7k, hilarious and devastating, this fic is a child to me
double dare - 32k, ladrien, absolutely everything. cemented my friendship w/ peach bc I had to scream at her everyday abt it
I thought the plane was going down - 11k, attuned to my tastes specifically, adrinette having a History while on airplanes
@carpisuns also puts out banger after banger like it's her dayjob, specializing in understanding the ridiculous nature of the lovesquare to such a degree and also being the funniest person alive. some of my faves from her are:
tell me something I don't know - 120k, the marichat fic EVER, mar's dissertation on lovesquare and guess what she's right
pink - 14k wip, adrien loves marinette, SOFT
two idiots and a hamster (collab with @botherkupo) - 24k, adrinette roommates, makes me cry laugh
@picayunearts is a goddess on earth. she bends word and image flawlessly to her will. recently she has enraptured me with
final girl - 41k, marichat, au where marinette succeeds in giving up her miraculous to alya in origins. INCREDIBLE marinette character study
@rosekasa invented ladynoir and i'm not afraid to say it. check out everything on her ao3 but just note the following
when things were good - 15k wip, breakup fic/post hawkmoth takedown, has been ruining me in a SPECIAL way
new marinette 12k, post-guardianship memory loss marinette, a classic
like poles of a magnet - 12k, enemies au, hurts my feelings
ya'aburnee - 13k, ladynoir, HURTS ME VERY MUCH. I'VE NOT RECOVERED
@buggachat's fics always feel like i'm attending a course on adrien and marinette's true characterizations explained to me by someone with a PhD in lovesquare and I walk away enlightened. she has an incredible gift for storytelling and just Getting It. anyway read
maintaining a professional distance - 43k, ladynoir hotel room shenanigans, god-tier characterization
when you're near 10k, ladynoir dating but adrinette have never met, a classic
@sha-nwa should honestly quit her career and write lovesquare fanfiction for me full time. proof:
the way I loved you - 68k, marichat break up fic, will be cemented into my mind forever
photograph - 1k, sweet adrinette, abby loves making me cry
things WOULD be amiss if I did not mention @officialratprince (carolinaa on ao3) bc their fics derailed my homework schedule on several occasions last semester, though I'll be honest that their fics are not for the faint of heart or those who wish adrien agreste to have a good time. my faves are
I will take it / it can't go wrong series - 3 fics at 16k, 25k, and 39k, adrien's journey through experiencing child abuse and his friends being there for him, culminating in gabriel's court trial
home sick - 14k wip, adrien gets pneumonia and Everything Is Really Bad
other various fics I love for various reasons:
how hawkmoth got his groove back series by @agrestenoir - 2 fics at 3k and 1k, one of my favorite crack fics i read last year. had me crying laughing
1 step forward, 3 steps back by agnes writes - 10k, breaks my heart every time I read it. also makes me legitimately angry at adrien while still keeping him in character which is a feat in and of itself
the last day on earth by reiaji - 10k, chat blanc keeps happening as marinette gets older, I am incapable of not recommending this fic
okay now go forth and don't do your work<3
#such a struggle for me to hold back and not just list every single one of everyone's fics.#looking at this list I realiize that I in fact read a lot of fanfiction#I cant even find it within myself to feel cringe about it bc these are all legitimately so GOOD#ml#miraculous ladybug#ml fic rec#mlb fic rec#anna rambles#asks
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How did Noise and Noisette meet? How long did they know each other before they started dating? What do they see in each other?
I wrote how they met in my fanfic, but I'll summarize it for you.
How they met:
Noisette actually didn't go by the name "Noisette" before her affiliation with Noise. Her real name is Hazel. Noisette in French (pronounced nwa-zett) translates to both Hazel and Hazelnut. When she opened her cafe, she decided to do a clever spin off her name. It originally started off as just Noisette Cafe. With the name, people assumed she was affiliated with The Noise. Once The Noise heard about it, he headed over to the cafe. At first, he was furious that someone was using his likelihood for their business. Once he saw the sweet, beautiful girl behind the counter, he wasn't so upset. He went in and ordered a coffee. He asked her about the name, and she explained that she thought she was just being clever. She was starstruck and honored to talk to her celebrity crush.
After this, he came back to her cafe a few times. He thought she was cute and secretly wanted to get to know her better. He didn't come very often at first, but eventually he was going every day. He finally built up the courage to ask her to lunch, which she agreed to. It "totally wasn't a date." He gave her his number, and the two started to talk on the phone daily. The Noise started to fall for her, HARD. Noisette also found herself falling in love with him for who he was instead of who he pretended to be. The two went on several more "not dates."
How long did it take:
They had ended up getting romantically affectionate before they started dating. This went on for 3-4 months. Noisette was paranoid that she was just a sidechick. The Noise finally got the courage to ask her out, which she screamed and squealed and said yes a million times before pulling him into a kiss.
What they see in each other:
The Noise was just being flirty with her at first. He almost always flirted with his fangirls until he started falling for Noisette. He thinks she's beautiful and sweet. She handles his anger issues as she's not afraid to get at him for being a dick. She also helps him cope with his depression. She opened up a part of him that he didn't even know existed. He found himself feeling safe with her. He was never big on physical affection until he met her. She's gentle but firm with him. She also knows how to put him in a better mood when he's sad or mad.
Noisette has always had a bit of a crush on The Noise. She thinks he's funny and handsome. She's not afraid to give him tough love when he gets snippy with her. She likes that he treats her differently than everyone else. She loves that he's a snuggle bug and lover boy even though he totally denies it. While she doesn't necessarily care about the fame or the money, she loves that he spoils her and spends as much as she wants. She thinks it's special that he's changed so much and come out of his shell for her. She loves him, but he still needs work on his mischief.
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Goody two shoes
Prologue
Warnings: Nigerian parents
AN: So the more I thought Miles and Gloria comes from the same universe
Nwa m = My child
🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸
" Where have you been?" her mother asked angrily, she sighed tired
" I was somewhere don't worry" she tried to go to her room, but her father called her
" Don't you dare answer your mother like that" he shouted pointing his finger on her face
" Sorry mommy" their temper cooled down after the apology
" Nwa m where have you been?" her mother continued to ask but her voice was calm and it was shaking a little bit
" I went and sign my contract" she explained, the parents looked at each other inconfusion
" Contract for what?" her father asked still skeptical
" I got a job as an IT assitant at VISIONS" she
" That's good news, is good to start getting a little bit of indipendence" he cleared his throat, silence filled the room
" Anyway I'm going to stay at VISIONS dorms for a week, you know their computers are heavy, sorry for not telling you before" she announced before going to her room.
" Ikenna what is heppening?"
" Amara I don't know, well I know" he sat down exhausted
" She's almost 20 years old in college, she's starting to live her life" he told his wife, while she joined him on the sofa
" You are right but I'm still worried" she said
" The only thing I know that we raised a good young woman, who will go out ther"
🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸
" Thorn the wannabe spiderman?" Gloria's best friend was shouting through the phone
" Girl calm down you know that Daily Bugle are kust a bunch of haters" she luaghed
" Well this the tip on top of iceberg, it seems the new Spiderman can't keep New York safe, so he needs a new heavier and chunkier team meber. Is the Hulk unavailable" she repeted what was wrote on the journal
" Mtchew abeg do you want to hear real news?"
" Yes"
" I'm got the job at VISION as it assitant" her friend jumped from happiness
" So you are going to move in the dorms"
" Yes......for one week"
" Gloria"
" I can't leave them alone, they are my parents" she chewed the bottome of her lips
" Girl you applied so you could have money so you could move out" Eniola said annoyed, she inhaled calmly.
" Yeah let me just stay away for a week and the we shall see, anyway Miles called me and said his friends are going to to stay for a while"
" Finally I'm gonna meet them especially London boy" she giggled
" He's nothing special" Gloria rolled her yes
" Yeah sure, why do you hate him so much?" she asked,the girl stood up from her bed, lokking at her phone confused
" Hate? Nah that's a strong word let's say we don't agree in a social political level well not really but we are polar opposite" she explained, her and Hobie were still "friends" they worked majority of time together but they were completly different from each other.
He was an anarchist, who confronted and expressed his opinions with his head up high
She was......she followed the rules, she was afraid to let people know what was in her mind.
He was cool
Chapter 1
#spiderman atsv#hobie brown x reader#hobie brown x black reader#miles morales#gwen stacy#jessica drew#black oc#pavitr prabhakar#miguel o'hara
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Any angsty ladynoir fics that don't have the conflict centered around the other heroes? I know this is pretty specific lol
...okay so I'm not sure what you mean exactly, most angsty ladynoir fics don't center the conflict around other heroes? Off the top of my head I can think of two major kinds of fic that should fit the bill: Ladynoir enemies au and "Chat gets injured/killed and Ladybug's very upset about it" fics. Though there are others, of course.
I (Wish I) Knew You by @buggachat
University has been hard on Marinette. Making new friends and maintaining her grades is a lot easier said than done when she has to disappear at odd times to fight akumas. She's struggling, and with Alya away with family and Adrien painfully out of reach, she's never felt lonelier.
If only she could talk to someone who really understood her struggles... but it's not like Chat Noir would know anything about loneliness. Right?
---
call it even by @anna-scribbles and @sha-nwa
After a year of dating, there is one thing Marinette knows for certain: it's her and Adrien against the world. Through it all, Adrien is kind, patient, and endlessly understanding—even as she tries her best to keep her secret superhero identity hidden from him along with the rest of the world.
Nothing could ruin it, not even the supervillains of Paris: Hawkmoth and Chat Noir.
(adrinette dating // ladynoir enemies au)
---
Nothing Else Matters by LiquefiedStars
Marinette couldn’t figure out Chat Noir. He was supposed to be her partner, but instead ended up working for Hawk Moth. Still, her heart betrayed her and when a strong connection forms between them, Ladybug goes to Chat looking for answers, finding out more than she bargained for.
---
A Little Fall Of Rain by Druwho
Unable to transform in time, Marinette sacrifices her life to save Adrien from an assassin. With the help of the Kwamis, Adrien is able to bring her back to life, but it comes at a price. One that Adrien alone must pay. Now, Adrien is forced to keep even more secrets. The fact that Marinette is alive and that she has been his Lady all long. More than ever, they must defeat Hawkmoth. Only then can Marinette return to her life.
---
Ghost of You by its_just_lori
It finally happened.
The akuma attacked at the wrong time. They weren't prepared. For the first time, there was a casualty. Someone was killed. Marinette doesn't care that her identity was exposed to the world; she can't stop blaming herself for what happened. If only she'd been ready... if only she'd done more...
There's nothing for Adrien to say. There's nothing he can do other than stay by her side and help her through this pain.
---
The Son of my Enemy by Saccha
Cat Noir never wanted to be a villain, but he doesn't have a choice. Ladybug wishes she could save him.
A reverse love square, villain!Cat Noir AU.
--
I hope these satisfy you! All of them are complete.
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Unexpected Dad in Your Bagging Area
Unexpected Dad in Your Bagging Area
by Emily Elizabeth Fowl
“I'm aware of that-” Sir Nighteye finally raised his head to look at Izuku and immediately froze, the pen falling out of his hand. It fell to the floor with a louder noise than Izuku had been expecting. How heavy was it? “What did you say your name was?”
“Uh,” Izuku straightened out slightly. Why was Sir Nighteye staring at him like that? Did he have something on his face? No, Mirio would have told him… “Midoriya Izuku, sir!”
Sir Nighteye hunched over his desk, one hand coming to support his temple.
“Um, Sir, are you alright?” Mirio asked from behind Izuku, his voice laced with concern.
“Your mother wouldn't happen to be Midoriya Inko, would she?”
***
Written as a part of the NWA's Fic Fight
Words: 752, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 6 of Emily's on a Warpath (again)
Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: Gen
Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Sasaki Mirai | Sir Nighteye, Toogata Mirio
Relationships: Midoriya Izuku & Sasaki Mirai | Sir Nighteye
Additional Tags: Crack, POV Third Person, POV Midoriya Izuku, NWA Fic Fight Team 1-B, Discord: No Writing Academia Fic Fight, Discord: No Writing Academia Fic Fight 2022
Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39597849
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@freeddead 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡 : ❝ what does cora's bedroom typically look like. ❞ ——— （ RANDOM HEADCANONS ‣‣ ALWAYS ACCEPTING ）
CANON 01 :
a mattress on the floor ( twin, 39x75 ) the covers are typically dark - black on black - a duvet is folded at the bottom of the bed for her to reach over and pull it over, but mostly she uses her chequered blanket, thin and super light.
walls are painted dark grey, carpet is a light. though there is a positive in all this, leaned against the walls and the extra space, there's canvases, blank, half painted and fully completed works. there's her own drawings hung up on the walls in a clustered pile, these papers will soon become the ground works for her future graphic novel series - blueprints. there's a white desk in the far corner, the surface stained with multi colours of paints, sketches scratched into the wood with a knife ( rough, but she really loves those ) - it looks more like an art room than an actual bedroom.
she has two piles that move around a lot ; a comic book, book and a record pile, they're a little frayed in places, but she loves them. they're one of the few ways where she spends her money on items deemed luxury ( including art supplies in this.) her comics are mostly filled with horror concepts, though does have subjects in fantasy - as for regular books - while there is fiction, it's mostly non fiction : history based around greece, egypt, china - all that good fun, its a growing pile depending on what she feels like learning about. there is a possibility where if you walk in there, you're going to kick a book across the room.
there's a blue case under her desk that she sometimes uses it to up her feet up, inside is records ; not a lot, just focusing on her most favourite artists ; NWA, D12, fugees, 2pac, biggie, cypress hill, guns and roses are the ones that i feel like she really focuses on. where's her record player ? how about you mind your own business ( she doesn't own one:( )
at this point, she's still getting over the trauma of living on the streets - her apartment really represents that. she finds her place really overwhelming and even subconsciously is waiting for the whole place to get ripped from her, getting comfortable isn't something she's good at - but she really, really tries because she wants to have somewhat of a normal life moving forward, which is why she makes it safe in the way she knows best ; littering the space with art.
CANON 3 :
finally my rich girl has realized her worth and realized she doesn't need to live in a hobble… she has treated herself to an alaskan king bed, cushioned white frame, even has those curtains that hang at the top with a rich royal blue - has a mix of colours available for them - bed is covered in decorative pillows, vintage looking ones to modern ones that are different shades of blue, grey and purples - her duvet covers can be very traditional at times, sheets that are very reminisce of a rich girl in the 18/1900s - she really leaned into her vintage heart when it comes to her bed, it's very comfortable, fluffy, jump on it and its like falling on a cloud; don't lay in her bed you wont ever want to leave.
dark wooden flooring with a fluffy white rug that spans across the floor, a gas fire on the right side of the room, the room is large, open, and very bright - its a clear representation of her headspace and how much she's grown.
she has some white shelves, filled with photos of vacations, new friends made, as well as awards that she's gained during this time - antiques, too ; authentic greek and egyptian pottery that she bought, sculptures from her favourite artists through the years, gifts gained from work partners - look on the bottom and you see some out of place cthulhu statue with some horror stuff from in the middle of this, truly living her best life.
coraline also absolutely has replicas of greek paintings, and while she can't hang them all up in her bedroom ; she has one wall where she puts a new painting up every month ( or week, depending on her mood ) - you could walk in and see the painting the fall of phaeton, the next time you do you'll see the lament for icarus - it really is a lucky dip.
#i wasn't sure where to put this so add on. she has a circle window because i said so <3#looks out into her back garden and its all just so bright and cozy:(#so much better than her shitty lil bedroom before#she actually has an art room and a study so no longer is her shit just laying around.#and yes. you will find her record in the study and it does go walk about around the house SOHDFOSIFS#freeddead#inbox.#absolutely not formatting this get fucked actually LMSODFSOIFSH#headcanon.
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WWE Money in the Bank 2022 - Quickfire Review
So it's that time of the year again, Ladder Climbing Season
One of WWE's Big 5 PPVs (I'm not calling it that premium live event shtick) is in the books, so let's see how it went!
Spoilers for the PPV
Kick Off
A congrats to Rosenburg for getting engaged
WWE are definitely trying to keep Cody in people's minds, but honestly 'peak of my career'? This is the dude who was ROH and NWA world champion
Of course they talked up Logan Paul as well. I mean, I get it he's an influencer, but it's only short term stuff. Paul can be a good wrestler, but he has to make sure he doesn't make the same mistakes as Ronda Rousey has, and that includes believing he can be a babyface
One Whole Hour of Kick-off and 0 Matches, absolute bull
Main Card
Even as a heel Becky gets that pop, dunno what the headset was but the green and gold was great, she almost looked like a Psycho Ranger
Liv getting a pop close to Becky, Alexa and Asuka was great
Is Raquel's gimmick that she has a back?
I remember that MITB and I can tell you that pop from the crowd was not for Alexa, people were heartbroken that Becky got slighted again
Camera cuts really need to simmer
0 Love for Lacey
Shotzi has had a bit of messy match which is a shame
There has been some really nasty landings in this match
Happy to see Liv win, her rebounding back from the ladder was a clever spot, and Becky freaking out makes sense because she's 3 for 3 for being the last woman kicked off the ladder. The match was scrappy, but decent.
Not a good day for accuracy between the WMITB and Theory overshooting his dive
The match got better the more it went in, it started as a pseudo-squash, threatened to get boring with Theory using rest holds but finished strong
Did Carmella raid Charlotte's feather closet?
Match was fine as it was, nobody thought Carmella had a chance but they didn't squash her and they didn't overstay their welcome, Carmella's post-match should've been a sneaky misdirect but didn't quite land
That Lily credit card ad thing was abysmal...
Burgundy was nice on the Profits
See unifying the Tag Titles was a good idea on paper, but WWE's delivery has been poor given the complete lack of depth in the tag division, by no fault of the wrestlers
Ford also can easily be a great singles competitor
This tag match is sponsored by smacking people in the mouth
Great final third, but now what? The Usos don't really have any more babyface teams to face again for like another month
Oh the raised shoulder, so this will continue the feud
Bray? Or is that just Spooky Edge?
WWE do NFTs? Yeah I'm not surprised
That was a mild pop for Ronda, but at least props for the pride colours
Sharpshooter is devastating to the back, Pat
This match is sponsored by calling each other 'Bitch'
I've often criticized Ronda's inexperience and lack of charisma, but this is the best I've seen her look in a long time. The Shawn Michaels pose during the Sharpshooter was a smart spot
The match was decent, like Belair nobody gave Nattie a chance, but at the least it didn't overstay its welcome, mainly operating in Ronda's wheelhouse
Morgan cashing in though was the bigger pop. I dislike though that they had her immediately get caught into the ankle lock, Ronda was perfectly set up for an Oblivion, should've been that then pin rather than a rollup
But still, very glad to see Liv FINALLY get gold, I fear it won't last long because well...Ronda...and it's mostly a babyface version of Bliss' cash in at 2018, but still, Liv finally gets the W
Urgh, Ronda doing the Hogan at Mania 4, just let Liv have her moment!
This is a surprisingly tame abomination that Seth is wearing
Pretty dumb of Shamu not to use his fighter boys to have an edge in this match
Okay but why? It makes 0 sense
Sami hiding behind the turnbuckle post was great
Pat this ladder has held the Big Show and Mark Henry I think it'd be fine
JEEZ that recoil
Ladder Floating Bro was a great spot
Missed chance to have Omos erupt from the pile of ladders like Godzilla
There's Butch, finally realising wrestling maths
I hate the finish in layers. For one it completely renders the whole qualifying process redundant (they even had a mobile raffle thing which had fans ask who would win MITB hours before announcing Theory in the match, meaning tons of fans wasted their money), for second it's just 2019 when Brock won the MITB, for third 3 of these guys shouldn't have really been in the match: Theory for obvious reasons, Drew because he has Clash at the Castle and Riddle because he lost a title match which bans him from challenging Reigns again and for fourth, because it's Vince McMahon's fingerprints all over this, the man's 'stepping down' is completely meaningless in terms of booking
I know Theory is considered one for the future, despite losing at mania to Pat which does make all these veteran wrestlers look like losers, and he may do really well with the briefcase, but he doesn't resonate with me at all and to finish the PPV like that was quite underwhelming. Which is a shame because the match was good, and I really REALLY wanted Sami to be given his dues, there was story in him being the MITB winner
Conclusion
Overall this was a fine PPV. It had some twists, some good but not all, and everyone worked hard. I can't say it's my favourite piece of wrestling I've seen this week though, such is the risk with WWE's newfound PPV approach of attempting to overdeliver on weak builds. It at least sets up for more, but you can't help feeling that there could have been more.
Match Results and Predictions
Liv Morgan def. Becky Lynch, Asuka, Alexa Bliss, Raquel Gonzalez, Lacey Evans & Shotzi for the Women's Money in the Bank Briefcase
Bobby Lashley def. Theory (c) [Submission via Hurt Lock] - NEW CHAMPION!!
Bianca Belair (c) def. Carmella [Pinfall via KOD]
The Usos (c) def. Street Profits [Pinfall on Ford via 1-D]
Ronda Rousey (c) def. Natalya [Submission via Armbar]
CASH IN: Liv Morgan def. Ronda Rousey (c) [Pinfall via Roll-up] - NEW CHAMPION!!
Theory def. Drew McIntyre, Seth 'Freakin' Rollins, Sheamus, Riddle, Omos, Sami Zayn & Madcap Moss for the Money in the Bank Briefcase
#wwe#wwe money in the bank#money in the bank#liv morgan#becky lynch#asuka wwe#alexa bliss#lacey evans#shotzi blackheart#raquel gonzalez#bobby lashley#austin theory#bianca belair#carmella#the usos#street profits#jimmy uso#jey uso#montez ford#angelo dawkins#ronda rousey#natalya wwe#drew mcintyre#sheamus#matt riddle#seth rollins#omos#madcap moss#sami zayn
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Top 20 Female/Joshi Wrestlers of 2021 (Part 2)
Description: We’re a long way away from the “Women’s Revolution” and in some ways the treatment of female wrestling talent in the West has reverted back to the “Diva Era”. In contrast, Joshi Wrestling at companies like STARDOM, has not only been able to stay afloat but grow during the pandemic. Not to be outdone though; the women’s divisions of WWE, AEW, Impact & ROH still put up and good fight and overall made it a competitive year for women in Pro Wrestling.
8. Thunder Rosa-Rosa came in to AEW as a champion in 2020, holding the NWA Women's Title. She challenged a few of the top talents in the company eventually making her way to Dr. Britt Baker. Britt would cost Rosa the NWA Women's Championship in a rematch with Serena Deeb on November 18th, 2020, as their feud would grow more and more heated. AEW's women's division was struggling at this point. Before Britt had beaten Shida and taken the title off of her she had suffered some injuries and even though she was making her presence felt as a heel after her turn, the division wasn't faring well under Shida. She had kind of exhausted a lot of the best opponents that the company had to offer so when Rosa came in and Britt finally beat Shida, that was seemingly the turning point for the division. While it's still struggling, the Unsanctioned Lights Out Match in March of 2021 @ St. Patrick's Day Slam showed us all the possibilities for what this division could produce. I don't think it's even debatable..this was the greatest women's match in company history. For this company it will probably be like Sasha Vs. Bayley @ Takeover: Brooklyn where all the best matches following it will be compared to it.
7. Deonna Purrazzo-After being released by WWE in 2020 without really being given a chance to show what she could do on the main roster, Deonna has been plenty busy. She signed with Impact in 2020 and kind of became the focal point of The Knockout's Division. Deonna prides herself on her technical wrestling ability and which just wasn't going to work out in "Sports Entertainment". The Virtuosa made her in-ring debut in Impact on June 9th of 2020 attacking Jordynne Grace. By Slammiversary in July of that year she had taken the Knockouts Championship off of Jordynne, winning her first title in the company.
Deonna dominated the Summer of 2020, and by 2021 she still remained the "woman to beat". While knocking down all the competition Impact could throw at her, she set out to extend the limits of her reign as one of the most commanding women in the sport by winning the AAA Reina de Reinas title from Faby Apache @ TripleMania XXIX making her a double champion.
Her reign in Impact came to an end when she was defeated by Mickie James @ Bound for Glory, but she became a Double Champion again by beating Rok-C for the Ring of Honor Women's Championship. At 27, we still haven't seen the upper limits of Deonna's potential but 2022 is a new year and i'm sure she has more to show us.
6. Charlotte Flair-In terms of accolades 2021 was a great year for Charlotte. With Sasha Banks passing the torch to Bianca Belair @ WrestleMania and taking a backseat to her, Bayley & Asuka getting injured and Becky Lynch being at home with her baby, Charlotte had plenty of room to shine. She didn't really do that great of a job of it with many of her opponents not being elevated and falling by the wayside, but she was still dominant at least. When she exchanged titles with Becky Lynch that made her a 6-Time Raw Women's Champion and an overall 13-time Women's Champion on the main roster.
5. Utami Hayashishita-Judo Black Belt, Utami Hayashishita only began training to be a Joshi wrestler in 2018. She was already getting high marks for her wrestling ability and won the tag league as well as the Goddess of Stardom Championship with Momo Watanabe in her first year. In 2019 she won 4 championships, The Pro Wrestling: EVE International Championship, The Future of Stardom Championship, The SWA World Championship & The Artist of Stardom Championship with her Queen's Quest stablemates which she held all at once. She won the 5★Star Grand Prix in 2020 and then the World of Stardom Championship. By 2021 in only a short time in the business, Utami had established herself as one of the top women in the company having main evented almost every STARDOM event that year. Her rivalry with Syuri had been building up to The big Dream Queendom show at the end of the year where her reign would come to an end but not before she had the first 5★Star match in Stardom history.
Utami is nothing short of amazing. Out of the 12 women that held the World of Stardom Championship, she has had the 4th longest reign behind decorated veteran Mayu Iwatani, Seadlinnng Founder Nanae Takahashi & The former Ace, Io Shirai. Although she's not the top Champion anymore, STARDOM’s future looks bright with her.
#Utami Hayashishita#Charlotte Flair#Deonna Purrazzo#Thunder Rosa#Seadlinnng#Nanae Takahashi#Io Shirai#Judo#EVE Pro Wrestling#STARDOM#Smackdown Women's Champion#Raw Women's Champion#TripleMania XXIX#AAA Reina de Reinas#AEW#AEW Women's Division#Knockouts Division#Knockouts World Champion#NWA Women's Division#Top 20 Female/Joshi Wrestlers of 2021#Wrestling#Women's Wrestling#Joshi Wrestling
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Oceania Pro Wrestling
HER
April 12th 2024
Following their recent heated exchange of words at OVW in relation to Billie Morgan, it was of no surprise that Mickie James came out swinging in her unexpected opportunity at the TNA Digital Media Championship. James was able to connect early with the Mick Kick but when she attempted the DDT, Dashwood quickly escaped before disaster struck in her home country.
From then on, the pace slowed and Dashwood finally managed some offense. Before long, Dashwood went to work on the right arm of James, at one point even wrapping it around the ring post and turnbuckle to try and do some lasting damage. James managed to avoid the worst of the intentions and fired back with another Mick Kick, showing how quickly she can end the match.
Luckily for Dashwood, she was close enough to the ropes to get a rope break before James could secure the victory. Following a shoulder breaker from the Australian, the game plan became obvious and James knew it. As such, she was able to avoid the Venus de Milo, but was caught completely by surprise when Dashwood kept her word of sending a message. Having missed another attempted Mick Kick, James was off balance and an easy target for Dashwood to connect with Billie Morgan’s Oxygen Destroyer to pick up the three count.
Prior to the match, Dashwood promised to send a message to the NWA World’s Women’s Champion. It may not have been the message people were expecting, but it was still loud and clear. Dashwood is not going to forget what Morgan did to her prior to signing with NXT and being out of reach for the Australian.
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The Great Pro-Wrestling Adventure Hour - 030
12/07/23
Defy TV 4:00 PM - 5:00 PM EST
Filmed at WCPO TV Studios in Cincinnati, Ohio
- We open this week with a shot of The Ring set, now with the halls fully decked for the holiday season. An aluminum Christmas tree complete with color wheel, melted plastic popcorn wall hangings, bubble lights, and blow molds covered the stage. Daphne Oz, Veda Scott, Sam Leterna, and Alyssa Marino entered and made their way to the desk. In the middle of the desk was a mountain of Christmas cards. Our hosts welcomed us in and began discussing Christmas cards and how you never know what to do with them, you feel too guilty to throw them away but what do you do with all the cards you save? Veda Scott shared some tips on how to up-cycle your old cards, such as making a DIY notebook or unique handmade ornaments and gift tags.
folkstyle (Shaw Mason and Hunter Holdcraft) vs. The Andersons (Brock Anderson and CW Anderson)
- With his team in trouble, Brock Anderson retrieved an international object from his tights, wrapped it around his left hand, and took a swing at Hunter Holdcraft. Holdcraft ducked the blow and floored Brock with a gutwrench suplex which sent the object flying to the mat. Holdcraft eyed the object, debated picking it up to give Brock a taste of his own medicine, but instead kicked it out of the ring. This hesitation allowed Brock to tag in CW Anderson and Holdcraft turned around into a spinebuster. Anderson went for the cover but Shaw Mason made the save. Mason was tagged in and applied the ankle lock to CW until he tapped out.
folkstyle defeated The Andersons via submission with an ankle lock from Mason on CW Anderson
- Daphne Oz welcomed us back inside The Ring and brought us over to the kitchen set where she wanted to share some of her favorite holiday cocktails. First Daphne showed us how to make Hot Buttered Rum. Daphne then shared her recipe for homemade eggnog. Next Daphne mixed up a Brandy Alexander, not to be confused with former pro-wrestler Brandi Alexander. Finally Daphne began to give her tips for making the perfect Christmas Punch, but realized she'd need someone to help her drink all these cocktails. Daphne brought out special guests Kerry Morton, Silas Mason, and Alex Taylor of the Southern 6. Taylor had a match next and his partner Starboy Charlie walked onto the set to discourage him from drinking. That wasn't an issue as Kerry and Silas quickly downed all the mixed drinks and even broke into the spirits Daphne had set aside for her punch. A visibly inebriated Kerry Morton called out The 37KAMIINA and said the Southern 6 want the match with them on Christmas night in Bethlehem.
Starboy Charlie and Alex Taylor vs. Giant Baba Yaga and Fuego Del Sol
- Giant Baba Yaga and Fuego Del Sol showed off their impressive tag team skills, isolating Starboy Charlie which caused Alex Taylor to get increasingly frustrated on the apron. When they cut Charlie off yet again, Alex Taylor threw his hands in the air and walked back toward The Ring set to enjoy some punch with The Southern 6. Halfway there Alex Taylor was intercepted by Marcus Mathers who dragged him back toward the ring just in time for Starboy to make the tag. Alex Taylor soon fell to the running neckbreaker from Giant Baba Yaga and was pinned in the middle.
Giant Baba Yaga and Fuego Del Sol defeated Starboy Charlie and Alex Taylor with a running neckbreaker from Baba Yaga on Taylor
- The hosts of The Ring started their next segment on tinsel trends before the ring of a doorbell cut them off. It is the holiday season after all and they wondered who their special guest could be. It was Smashing Pumpkins frontman and president of the NWA, William Patrick Corgan. William Patrick Corgan joined the Ring Crew and had a major announcement. The National Wrestling Alliance will be joining The Co-Op this April in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. And not just that, CORE will be hosting the very first CORE Rage Party that weekend featuring some of your favorite wrestlers and live music including a special one night only reunion performance by Zwan!
SHIMMER Tag Team Championship Tournament: Round One
Hyan and Kylie Paige vs. Sayaka and Sayaka Obihiro
Hyan and Kylie Paige defeated Sayaka and Sayaka Obihiro with the Beauty Sleep from Hyan on Obihiro
- After the match Big Dan Champion and Joshua Bishop made their way to ringside. The two men wanted to thank Hyan and Kylie Paige for saving them from an attack at the hands of The TrustBusters on Thanksgiving night. Big Dan chugged a glass of Daphne Oz's eggnog while Bishop asked if they'd like to keep sharp between rounds and team with them next week in an eight-man tag match. Hyan and Kylie accepted their offer and Sam Leterna wondered if Kylie and Hyan may be stretching themselves too thin heading into the semi-finals.
SHIMMER Tag Team Championship Tournament: Round One
Queen Aminata and Raychell Rose vs. The Royal Aces (Jetta and Charlie Morgan)
Queen Aminata and Raychell Rose defeated The Royal Aces via submission with the Juicy Lock from Aminata on Jetta
- Daphne Oz, Veda Scott, Sam Leterna, and Alyssa Marino signed off and teased that next week they will be back with great wrestling action and the perfect Secret Santa gift ideas for all price ranges.
Next Week On The Great Pro-Wrestling Adventure Hour presented by The Ring
SHIMMER Tag Team Championship Tournament - Semi-Finals: Stephanie Vaquer and La Catalina vs. DIAMOND EGOIST (MICHIKO and Janai Kai)
Jessica Troy vs. Risa Sera
Tim Bosby vs. "King Of Jersey Shore" Zack Clayton
Also in action…
Big Dan Champion, Joshua Bishop, Hyan, and Kylie Paige
Upcoming Shows:
CORE Pro #126
12/25/23
…if only in my dreams
Wind Creek Event Center - Bethlehem, Pennsylvania
01. Finals of the SHIMMER Tag Team Championship Tournament
02. The 37KAMIINA (Yuki Ueno/MAO/Toy Kojima) vs. ???
03. Coal Miner's Glove Match: Eddie Kingston vs. Titus Alexander
CORE Pro #1??
02/03/24
Regional Pro-Wrestling Day 2024
LuLu Temple - Plymouth Meeting, Pennsylvania
CORE presents The Co-Op 2024
04/03/24 - 04/07/24
23rd Street Armory - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Partner Promotions include:
GLEAT
JTO (Just Tap Out)
National Wrestling Alliance
04/05/24
CORE Rage Party
Union Transfer - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
The biggest party you'll ever attend!
Featuring live music and all your favorite wrestlers.
Live music from Zwan more to be announced.
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Slammiversary preview
Alex Shelley vs. Nick Aldis - Aldis won a match on June 9 to earn this shot at the Impact men's world title. It had been looking like they were setting up a feud between Aldis and Steve Maclin, but then Shelley captured the title from Maclin (also on June 9), so I'm not sure what's going on. Regardless, Aldis turned heel by attacking Shelley on June 15.
Aldis originally came to Imapct (then known as TNA) in 2008 as "Brutus Magnus," and quickly got lost in the shuffle until the company remembered to push him to a world title run in 2013-2014. Magnus might have become a fixture in Impact, but the company was facing hard times and he left for (seemingly) greener pastures in Global Force Wrestling, where he held their world title as Nick Aldis. When GFW was absorbed into Impacft, he returned just long enough to drop the belt, and this time left to work for Billy Corgan as the NWA men's world champion. After that relationship soured, Aldis has finally come home, sort of. So he's spent most of his career excelling in relative obscurity--he's probably best known to casual fans for losing the NWA title to Cody Rhodes at All In in 2018. But Impact's fortunes have improved, and it might finally be a proper stage for him to be the top star.
I still don't know what to make of Shelley as champion. It's cool in a "you deserve it" kind of way, in that he's been with Impact for most of the last 20 years and they finally put the top belt on him. But I was really expecting 2023 to be the year of Steve Maclin. Is Shelley meant to be a long-term champion? Or is he just here to put over Aldis, so they can save Aldis vs. Maclin for later? I suppose it'll be interesting to find out.
Impact could plausibly go with either guy on top for the next six months. But my money is on Aldis. I can't picture him fitting into AEW/ROH, and nobody's going to WWE right now, so the best place for him is playing Harley Race in the #3 US promotion. You put your world title on Aldis and he makes it mean something, simple as that.
Deonna Purrazzo vs. Trinity - Purrazzo is defending the Impact women's world title. Trinity is of course Trinity Fatu, formerly known as Naomi in WWE until she left in 2022 and finally debuted with Impact in April. I'm surprised this is where she landed, but it's a big get for Impact. I don't know if she passed on AEW and NJPW, or if they weren't interested in her, but either way I'd like to see her prove she can excel wherever she is.
The natural storyline here is a longrunning champ like Purrazzo resenting the arrival of a much bigger star from the big leagues. Impact has done that story so many times they've got it down to a science. It's promotional malpractice not to book Trinity as champion, but Purrazzo was already in the middle of dominating the division and trying to prove Mickie James isn't its top star. Trinity has to either disrupt all that, or get knocked down a peg and find her way back to the top. My guess is she'll just win the belt straight away. And if it was up to me, I'd keep it on her until Mickie James is ready to return.
Bully Ray & Cody Deaner vs. Scott D'Amore & ??? - D'Amore is the on-screen president of Impact Wrestling. On May 26, Bully Ray and Steve Maclin threw him through a table they set on fire. D'Amore, who used to be an indie wrestler years ago, took a leave of absence from his duties to feud with Ray and Maclin, which was kind of one-sided until PCO improbably showed up to help. So Ray & Maclin vs. D'Amore & PCO was signed for this show...but the heels set PCO on fire on July 6, and then Maclin was sidelined with a legit injury. Deaner stepped up to replace Maclin, and we don't know who D'Amore has in mind for his partner. Is Petey Williams available?
I assume this will be the usual clusterfuck whenever Bully Ray does a big blowoff match with somebody he's been picking on for months. I assume the mystery partner pins Ray to end the feud, but the whole buildup to this match has been chaotic so I don't think you can predict anything going forward.
Chris Sabin vs. Lio Rush - Sabin is defending the Impact X division title. Rush has mainly been in New Japan this year, including some great babyface moments in the Best of the Super Jr. tournament, but he's a heel in Impact after aligning with Nick Aldis against Sabin and Alex Shelley. I don't care, I remember that couple in Japan that let Lio hold their newborn baby, and I want him to win all the belts, starting with this one.
Ace Austin & Chris Bey vs. Moose & Brian Myers vs. Rich Swann & Sami Callihan vs. Mark Andrews & Flash Morgan Webster - Austin and Bey (ABC) are defending the Impact men's tag team title in a four-way match, so whoever scores the first fall on any opponent wins the match and the title for his team. Moose and Myers formed an alliance recently because neither of them have anything better to do. I think Swann and Callihan joined forces against The Design, which seems to be done, but they're still teaming, I guess. The real story here is Subculture (Andrews and Webster, along with Dani Luna) coming in from the downfall of NXT UK. If anybody's going to beat ABC for the tag titles, I'd like to see them do it, just to shake up the tag division.
Eddie Edwards vs. Frankie Kazarian - I don't know, it's two aging wrestlers who've been around forever and now they're fighting again and I guess their wives are involved. I guess Kaz wins.
KiLynn King & Taylor Wilde vs. Killer Kelly & Masha Slamovich - The Coven (King & Wilde) are defending the Impact women's tag team title. Last I looked Slamovich and Kelly were two scary mean ladies who hated each other but now they're scary mean ladies working together, which sounds like bad news for the Coven. I'm cool with witches vs. ass-kickers as a long-term program, so whoever wins I hope they keep doing this.
Jonathan Gresham vs. KUSHIDA vs. Mike Bailey vs. Kevin Knight vs. Alan Angels - This is an Ultimate X match but I think the show starts in about fifteen minutes so I'm not going to spend any time explaining how that works. The winner gets to challenge for the X division title. Angels seems to be getting repackaged for a push so I'll pick him to win.
Jody Threat & Courtney Rush & Jessicka vs. Gisele Shaw & Savannah Evans & Jai Vidal - This is scheduled for the pre-show. Rush and Jessicka used to be Rosemary and Havok, but I guess a bunch of spooky storyline shit turned them into regular people. Vidal is Shaw's male valet, and in wrestling if you're a guy who acts like a lady wrestler's assistant, that makes it okay for you to regularly team with her against women. I don't pay enough attention to Impact to know what Evans or Threat has to do with anything. I'm guessing Threat, Rush, and Jessicka win.
Joe Hendry vs. Kenny King - This is set for the pre-show, and Hendry is defending the digital media championship, which might as well be the PPV pre-show title. I guess Hendry wrote an amusing song making fun of his opponent again, ha ha, lather rinse repeat. Hendry probably retains.
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MLW Fusion 156 Review/Recap
Hey everyone, welcome to another review of MLW Fusion. This time, I'm looking at their latest episode, so we can finally be up to date. If you wanna look at my prior MLW reviews or other wrestling reviews, check out the tags at the bottom of the post. With that out of the way, let's have a look at MLW Fusion 156, the Thanksgiving special.
We have a promo package on the world title match. They were both former members of The Dynasty, which I had forgotten. MJF is actually in some of that footage, as he was the other member of The Dynasty, but still, interesting to see him. I know MLW has a bad relationship with AEW and AEW already does a lot of outside promotion stuff, but I’d love to see AEW and MLW do some sort of crossover, even if it’s some talent from both promotions on an indie show.
Shirley Bassey’s “Diamonds are Forever” plays for a second, which got me intrigued – it turns out The Dynasty’s theme was the instrumental to Diamonds from Sierra Leone! That’s so kickass, I always thought plenty of Kanye songs would be great wrestling themes.
Apparently next week is the super series, which has some interpromotion stuff. I’m guessing it’ll only really be AAA, Dragon Gate. MAYBE NWA and Impact. This was taped months ago so I could spoil it, but I wanna go in clean.
To the ring, we’re starting with Britanny Blake vs Taya Valkyrie. I’m not a huge Taya fan so I don’t expect to enjoy this, but we’ll see. Actually, I’ll have seen two people on this show live – Taya and Hammerstone, and I didn’t particularly enjoy either, but I’ve seen far less Hammerstone, so I have better expectations for him.
Anyways, Brittany starts by wailing on Taya. She ends up with a submission on Taya, but goes to choke Taya, causing a break. Brittany goes for another submission. Taya breaks out and tries to go on the attack, but Brittany keeps the lead, getting a pair of two counts. Brittany goes for a double stomp off the top rope, but Taya hits a spear.
Ad break, as we come back,Taya is in control now, with a blue thunder bomb for a two. After that, a half crab, but Brittany makes the ropes. Backstabber on Taya for a 2. Brittany goes for a tiltwahirl DDT, but gets suplexed for a two count.
Taya taunts Brittany and tries to set her up on the top rope but Brittany escapes, with some sort of tiltawhirl armbreaker. She goes for the Bad Omen, which I think is her finisher, but Taya makes the rope.
Brittany attacks more, but Taya hits what the commentators call a STO, but looks more like a clothesline to me. Taya hits a curbstomp on Brittany’s back and hits the Loca Lock for the win.
Taya was alright, but I’m still just not really a fan of her. I was actually quite impressed by Brittany, I liked her energy and I think her moveset flows together really well, which was most of what made the match exciting for me.
--
We get the email prompt for the Opera Cup again, then the Supe Series is mentioned again, and in January we’ll get Blood and Thunder and Superfight in February. Then a video package for Ej Nduka. More Kanye as Power plays in the back. His parents were Nigerian immigrants and he fought his way here. He played a lot of sport in high school and is a former football guy, he played on a few teams, then got into body building. I completely forgot EJ was a former WWE Performance Center guy. Hey, here’s hoping he learnt some good stuff there and makes a name for himself. This promo package got me behind him, I hope he’s good in the ring.
He then also gets a backstage interview, where he’s asked his thoughts on the main event. Apparently EJ was undefeated and got most eliminations in Battle Riot. At least we know about his streak prior to him losing it. Wait, Holliday and Hammerstone is next? Is this really the main event? We have 40 minutes left! I’ve talked about MLW’s time management, and I get it, it’s a title match, but if the rest of this show is just the main event, that’s overkill.
In the meantime, we hear that indeed, Dragon Gate will be at Super Series and get the same hype package for Shun. Oh, he cuts a promo, too. He calls out Myron Reed, specifically. We get more Mance, which isn’t ever a bad thing. He’s got a hotline with scoops. I don’t know how international phone calls work, but if I were in America I’d call that up. He claims Mads Kruger is Doc Gallows. A plane flies past and is loud and Mance ad-libs that that’s Doc on his way. Masterful.
As expected, AAA is also mentioned to be part of Super Series. 4 luchadoras are gonna be in an elimination match next week for the #1 contendership to the featherweight title. I’m looking forward to that, I saw one of their matches at Triplemania once and thought it was pretty good.
--
Well, it actually is time for the main event, surprisingly. Holliday is on the attack, focusing on Hammerstone’s injured ribs. They make it to the outside where Hammerstone hits a suplex. Cover for two. They brawl down the ramp and find their way in a staircase that they fight up. They’re on the roof for a two count. This is the same place Cesar filmed his segment last episode.
They then fight back down the stairs. Ad break, as we’re back they go back down the ramp. Hammerstone throws Holliday into the ring. Holliday hits a rope assisted DDT for a two count. He gets a few kicks on Hammerstone.
Scoop slam and a splash on Holliday or another two. Holliday stays on the attack and undoes some of Hammerstone’s bandages. Holliday stays on him, but Hammerstone hits a dropkick and both are down as the ref starts a count.
They both get up, but Hammerstone hulks up and hits a dropkick and then a power slam for a two count. They’re on the ramp again as Hammerstone has control. They then make it backstage, and back to the arena. Holliday calls Hammerstone a juiced up bitch before getting him in a submission through a rail.
They fight to hit a move on the ramp, and Holliday hits the piledriver Holliday gets Hammer in the ring, but he’s still fighting, hitting a suplex. Sitout powerbomb for a 2 count. They fight on the apron, but Holliday hits his finisher, the 2008. For a finisher, it doesn’t look that impressive. Anyways, 2 count. They then exchange strikes. Hammerstone gets in control and hits the torutre rack.
The match wasn’t terrible, and I will admit, again my description of the action was lacking, but it really was just sort of a boring brawl around the arena. I don’t dislike falls count anywhere matches but they need something special to be entertaining, and this didn’t have it. It doesn’t help I feel Hammerstone just sort of stopped selling halfway through and wasn’t a fan when I saw him live.
Because it was mostly a brawl, I didn’t get a feeling for Holliday, but like I said, his finisher is kinda boring, so that’s not a good sign. I think if they went with an “I Quit” stipulation and focused this match more heavily on submissions/Holliday working the ribs and Hammerstone being an underdog who somehow got the upper hand thanks to some sort of advantage, it would work better, but alas, not the case.
We then get word Bandido is the next challenger for the title. I like Bandido, but as I said, not so much Hammerstone, so I hope Bandido can carry him to an interesting match. Hammerstone gets an interview, but EJ comes down. EJ turns heel, though, hitting Hammerstone wth his belt. EJ tries to slam Hammerstone through a table, but it doesn’t break. Second time’s the charm, though.
Not the worst ending segment, but it didn’t sell me on the match. They also did tease EJ turning heel earlier, but I didn’t mention it because I didn’t think they would after that video package. Showing that video package hyping him up and then turning him heel sure was a decision.
This was my least favourite episode of MLW Fusion so far. It wasn’t terrible and I still enjoyed the opening match, at least, but it was the weakest of the last 3 episodes. I hope the next episode is better.
To be honest, Brittany Blake was my highlight of this episode, while my least favourite part was the main event - which is kinda a bad thing for obvious reasons, but I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt and say the structure of the falls count anywhere match did them no favours. Hammerstone’s lack of selling irked me the most. Again, I’ll give him benefit of the doubt – he was in the longest match on the show, so it gave me more time to see him and not like his role in the match as opposed to everyone else who had bit sized matches.
I'll see you all next time, whether that be more MLW or an entirely new promotion.
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How Hip Hop Saved Me
I stood at my locker, trying to find my algebra book. My constant nervousness was causing my long legs to shake. It was my first day at Meyzeek Middle. A white Jewish girl bussed to an inner city school. For once in my life, I was the minority.
A boy approached the locker next to mine. His name was Jermel Van Moon. He looked at me and smiled. My nerves calmed slightly. Jermel and I saw each other every day after that, rushing to our lockers to get our books for our next class. We would say hello to each other but that was about it. One day, he handed me a cassette tape, in an unmarked white case.
“Take this”, he said quietly, “It will change your life”. I quickly put the tape in my backpack. I felt, special. “Thanks”, I said to Jermel.
I couldn’t wait to get home that day. When I did, I ran straight up to my room. I locked my door, pulled out my jam box, popped in the tape and hit “play”. The words and music flowed out of the jam box, and into my head.
Yo EMD Yeah, what’s up man? There goes that girl they call Roxanne. She’s all stuck up Why you say that?
Cause she wouldn’t give a guy like me no rap.
She was walking down the street so I said “Hello I’m Kangol from UTFO. "And she said "So?”
I played it over and over and over again. The whole tape. Songs like “Bite It” and “Fairytale Lover” filled my ears. Made me want to dance.
That is how my love for hip hop began. I listened to songs by LL Cool J, Run DMC, Newcleus, The Fat Boys, Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, NWA, Luke Skywalker and the 2 Live Crew, but Roxanne, Roxanne was my favorite. I even convinced my two best friends to learn the words as well. We spent hours playing the song, writing down the lyrics, play, rewind, what did he say? We finally got it. We practiced all the time, until we had it down perfectly. Most people looked at us like we were nuts, but we didn’t care.
As I got older, I continued listening to hip hop. It became more popular and more mainstream. It was more than just ear candy to me though. Hip hop represented strength. It represented struggle. It was raw, real and had a beat that touched my soul. I do not know why it touched me so deeply. It just did. That is the funny thing about music. It is a living, breathing entity. Just like people. You will like some, you will hate some, and some will take hold of your heart and never let go. That was me, falling in love with a new genre of music that I connected with on a deep level.
I had just turned 40 years old. My two best friends threw me a killer surprise party, complete with tequila shots, dancing til our feet went numb, lots of laughter and shenanigans. A night to remember, for sure.
After a few days of recuperating and resting, I decided to workout and lift some weights. As I lifted my arms above my shoulders, pushing the weights into the air, I felt a strange lump in my left breast. I decided to finish my workout and check it later.
When I got home, I peeled off my sweaty shirt and did a self breast examination. Yes, definitely a lump. It was about the size of a golf ball. Probably another cyst, I thought. I had been to the doctor at least 5 times worried about a lump in that same breast, and every time it had been a cyst. Apparently I was prone to them. I hopped in the shower and quickly forgot about the cyst. I didn’t have time to worry about it. I had too many other things on my plate.
Several months went by and the cyst seemed to grow. I still ignored it, convinced that it was nothing to worry about. One day, however, I was standing naked in front of the mirror and noticed that my left nipple was sunken in. So strange. It was concave. I immediately grabbed my laptop and googled “sunken nipple”. Two words I never thought I would be googling. Many sites popped up and all of them advised to see your doctor immediately. Shit. I was terrified.
I sat in Dr. Runk’s office, after a mammogram and ultrasound, waiting for her to come in and give me the results. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. My heart was pounding, I was fidgety, I could barely breathe. I knew before she even came in that it was bad. I just knew. I think I knew the first time I felt the cyst in my breast. I was just too scared to do anything about it.
The door opened. Dr. Runk entered the room with a blank, but serious look on her face. In that moment, time slowed down. The distance from the door to me was only about 12 feet, but it seemed to grow to about 50. Her mouth began to move. “You have breast cancer”, she said.
Long pause. I was unsure if my heart was even beating at that point, it was so fast. I felt the need to be very calm, like it was no big deal. Like being told I had cancer was an everyday occurrence for me. “Okay”, I said. She put her hand on my leg to comfort me. I guess I wasn’t doing a very good job of appearing calm. “How bad is it?”, I asked, my voice trembling. “I want to do a biopsy to confirm, but in my years of experience I already know it is a cancerous tumor. There are more than one, actually. The largest is the size of a grapefruit. I also see some activity in your lymph nodes. That puts you at a stage 3”, she replied. Stage 3?! That was bad. I know because I had a dear friend pass away from stomach cancer a few years back. He was a stage 3. Holy shit. From that moment on, I was operating on auto pilot. I was a robot. A robot with cancer. In that moment, everything changed.
The biopsy confirmed that I did indeed have stage 3 ductal lobular ER PR positive HER2 positive invasive grade 2 breast cancer with lymph node involvement and a splash of lime. My therapy regimen was to include immediate chemotherapy, in hopes of shrinking the tumors, a single mastectomy, to remove the cancerous breast and lymph nodes, radiation, and by my choice, another mastectomy as a preventative measure. I decided early on, actually, three days after my diagnosis, that I was going to kick cancer’s ass. I allowed myself three days to scream, cry, pray, scream some more, and then I went into action mode. I am the mother of a beautiful 9 year old daughter, and I do not have the luxury of being sick or dying. That was not and is not an option for me.
My first course of treatment was 6 rounds of intense chemotherapy. It is kind of like having the flu times 10. You are so weak you can barely move, and sometimes are not sure if you are even alive. But I made myself get out of bed everyday, even working through treatment. I think I missed a few days when I had a few really bad spells. But overall I was able to push through the pain and find strength I never imagined I had. I came out bald and tired, with a new appreciation for my wonderful life, family and friends. I had to do a less intense form of chemo for another 18 months. That cycle was like being in a fog, having just run a race and getting hit by a truck. I got used to be exhausted and still functioning. I look back on that time and cannot believe I made it through.
People I hadn’t heard from in years were reaching out to show me their support. It was quite incredible. I honestly could not have gotten through my treatment without the love and concern of others. There were days when I just wanted to lay in bed forever. It was my friends who would give me a reason to push myself, my family and most of all, my daughter.
One day, a week or so before my mastectomy, I got a phone call from an old college friend. He had heard about my diagnosis, and wanted to chat. He had recently put some pictures on Facebook of him and Doug E. Fresh, one of my favorite hip hop artists. I asked him what was up with that. He said that he was doing some work on the side in promotions. We talked old school hip hop for awhile. He was a fan just as much as I was. He said he was going to have someone call me the night before my surgery, someone special.
My surgery date crept up fast. The night before I was packing, trying to figure out what one needs when they are about to get their boob chopped off. I was nervous. Normal nervous. Okay, terrified. But I wasn’t letting anyone know. I wasn’t scared of the surgery. I was scared of not waking up from the surgery. I know that doesn’t happen very often but I was convinced that was going to happen to me. After everything I had been through, I would just die on the surgical table. Okay, not much I can do about it except distract myself. The phone rang. Good, I thought, perfect distraction. The conversation went like this.
“Hello?”, the deep voice on the other end of the line exclaimed in a questioning tone.
“Yes”, I replied.
“Is this Michele?”, deep voice asked. I was beginning to wonder if this was like a cancer gram or something.
“Yes, this is she”, I said.
“Oh, good. Hi Michele. This is Kangol Kid. Your friend David gave me your phone number. He told me that you were having surgery tomorrow. I hope you don’t mind, I wanted to call and see how you were doing”, the deep voice said.
I couldn’t breathe. Heart pounding. Is this a joke? I wondered. No, i don’t think it is. What? Kangol Kid is calling ME! THE Kangol Kid who sang Roxanne, Roxanne, my all time favorite jam that I have been listening to since I was 12 and know every word. Shut the front door!
I am not sure what I said after that. I think a few screams and then I regained my composure.
“Wow”, I said, “Thank you so much for taking the time to call me. I cannot believe this is you. Can I tell you something? I have been listening to your music since I was 12 years old. I know EVERY word to Roxanne, Roxanne. Oh my gosh, I love you!!!!”, I shouted excitedly like a teenager.
Kangol laughed. Then he said, “Well if you know EVERY word to Roxanne, Roxanne, let me bust out a line and then you give me the next line”.
“Bring it”, I said, confidently. “Cause I can sing, rap, dance in just one show”, he rapped.
I proceeded to sing the rest of the song, word for word. Kangol was impressed. I was on cloud nine. We talked for awhile. He was (and is) a very nice, smart and sweet guy. I discovered that he was co-founder of an organization called The Mama Luke Foundation, which raises funds for breast cancer research. Amazing. Kangol said he would call me in a week to check up on me. I hung up the phone and started running around the house screaming. My Dad, who was spending the night to take me to the hospital at 5 a.m., ran up the stairs with a concerned look on his face.
“WHAT WHAAT?”, he yelled, “Are you okay???”.
I ran up and hugged him, rapping “Kangol Kid just called me, Kangol Kid just called me, holy fuckin shit, Kangol Kid just called me” to the tune of Roxanne, Roxanne.
My Dad took a breath of relief and said “Who the hell is Kangol Kid?”.
I forgot about my surgery. I forgot, for the first time in a LONG time, that I had cancer. I called all my friends and told them about the phone call. I couldn’t sleep. I was back in my room, 12 years old, playing that tape, not a care in the world.
My surgery was picture perfect. They got out all the cancer and I had clean margins. I got through radiation and my second surgery like a champ. Throughout the whole process, Kangol and I talked often.
Somewhere in the middle of my treatment, I met Kangol at a breast cancer walk in Cleveland. We spent 3 days together, along with legends of hip hop Rahiem from Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five and Paul Anthony and Bow-Legged Lou of Full Force. I went with them to radio station interviews, book signings and performances. It was pure bliss. I recall one moment, watching Kangol singing “Roxanne, Roxanne” on a stage in a bar in Cleveland. I was standing in the crowd. I was bald, dark circles under my eyes from the exhaustion of my cancer treatment, overweight from the hormone therapy I was taking, never looked worse in my life. Kangol smiled at me. I was dancing. To my favorite jam. Sung by my FRIEND. I never felt more beautiful and more alive in my life.
Kangol and I stayed friends for many years after that. He called me on my birthday every year and sang me Happy Birthday. He called my daughter his “niece”. We were lucky to spend more time together over the years. He was always a bright light in my life, a source of love, strength and comfort. A reminder that life is magical, the unexpected can and does happen, and angels walk amongst us. My sweet friend got colon cancer in 2021 and lost his battle on December 18, 2021. He left behind 3 sons and a daughter. They will carry the torch and ensure his legacy of love, light and music never dies. I will always remember him and the impact he had on my life. Rest in power Kang. Love always.
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